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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24947857">Soaring Toward the Sun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pesto/pseuds/Pesto'>Pesto</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Icarus [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Wings, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Canon-Typical Violence, Elijah Kamski &amp; Gavin Reed are Half-Siblings, Explosives, FBI, Falling In Love, Fire, Gun Violence, Life-Threatening Injuries, M/M, Murder, Pining, Police Procedural, Slow Burn, Total word count: 100.000, Wingfic, approximately, author has no idea how the police system works, completed fic, excessive hand holding, i need that mom angst, like... tear your hair out, not gavin or connor, serial case hot-potato, skim the first part for world context, there's some pretty important stuff in there, they share a mom which fucks up the timeline but whatever</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:35:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>106,049</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24947857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pesto/pseuds/Pesto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gavin got his wings, he thought everything might just be alright for once. Sure, Connor’s making him feel things, his half-brother’s breathing down his neck, he can’t fly, their murder case turns serial, he’s grappling with his changing world views, the FBI’s sticking their hands down his throat—</p><p>Actually, there was a fat chance it was going to be alright. All he can do now is hope he can navigate his winged world while flightless, and try not to let his case get the best of him before anyone can help keep him on his feet. </p><p>And maybe fall in love along the way.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor/Gavin Reed, Elijah Kamski &amp; Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson &amp; Gavin Reed, Tina Chen &amp; Gavin Reed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Icarus [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1177505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>109</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>170</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. In Which the Scene is Set</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! It's nice to be posting fic on here again. I started this fic in 2018 but only wrote the first chapter. With all this free time I've found myself with, I decided to pick it back up and kick myself into a two-month writing spree-- and this is the result! This is by far the longest thing I have ever written, and writing overarching plotlines is a new experience for me. I'm very excited to share it with you! This will be updated weekly or biweekly depending on if I'm feeling extra spicy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>ANDROIDS GRANTED SAME RIGHTS AS HUMANS</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>FOLLOWING a tumultuous era in U.S. history, the Supreme Court has shocked the nation by voting unanimously that Androids possess the same rights granted to humans under the U.S. Constitution, including the right to vote for public officials, to the dismay of many Americans. With the massive amount of Androids in urban areas such as Detroit, Michigan, it is a distinct possibility that Androids May run for public office. As to what may happen then, has yet to be seen.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Flying Lesson Number One, on a Tuesday</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-and that’s why humans are able to-- Detective, are you listening?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Gavin said, like a liar. “Muscle groups, lots of ‘em. I got it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor crossed his arms, looking annoyed. “Detective, I cannot fathom how difficult it may be to teach you how to fly. This agreement we have may be the only thing keeping you a job, so please listen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin shook his head. “We’re getting nowhere as long as if you keep blabbing on and on,” he said, taking a seat on a frosty stump, breath coming out in pipes of white. “If teaching me to fly is going to take a long time, we better start, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually flying</span>
  </em>
  <span>, dipshit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Gavin idly toed around loose dirt on the ground, Connor frowned. “I see what you mean, but from what I know, your first… attempts haven’t been too fruitful.” At this Gavin stood up, angry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I got it. Don’t need to fucking reiterate it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor looked at Gavin expectantly. “So you’ll listen to me from now on?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin made a noncommittal noise. Suddenly appeased, Connor continued.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As I was saying, the avis supracoracoideus and the avis pectoralis are what allows for extension and retraction of your wings. Such as,” Connor flourished his wings, bringing the “elbows” (as Gavin saw it) in and out. “Makes sense?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin grumbled out an affirmation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Every time Gavin was called out to respond to calls, he silently hoped to god that there wouldn’t be a running suspect that would decide to take flight to escape.  He hoped dearly that none of his coworkers would suggest a race, or a practice of sorts. He constantly existed on this precipice of disaster, inches away from falling. His only hope at this point was Connor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Connor</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Just thinking the name made something shift in his chest. As much as Gavin loathed to admit it, Connor was his only chance. And right alongside that, Gavin actually thought the android’s stupid lectures were </span>
  <em>
    <span>helping</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Crazy, right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In just one damn lesson, Connor had taught Gavin the muscles and their functions in his wings, and he was now intimately aware of the inner workings of his limbs. It was weird. He’d shift them while getting into bed and think-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>avis triceptus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>avis pectoralis. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And not to mention the lessons on “humanity” that Gavin was apparently teaching. It wasn’t anything nearly as structured or sophisticated as Connor was doing for him, but it still happened. In passing, Gavin would tell him something that he did was weird, or tell him not to look so… y’know. Android. And Connor would always give him this look, something confusing that he couldn’t identify, that would leave Gavin thinking for hours after. He really was in deep, wasn’t he? Gavin, you stupid bitch. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And then immediately continued to think about him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stupid, indeed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin would rarely speak to Connor outside of their “lessons”. But Connor, on the other hand, had no qualms about approaching him at any point in time. Bathrooms, scenes, offices, front porches, didn’t matter. If Connor had something to say, he would damn well say it, social conventions be fucked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that Gavin particularly </span>
  <em>
    <span>minded.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was strangely endearing, anyhow. It was almost impossible to tell that this Connor is the same Connor that tried to get him fired from the DPD. He’s still mad about that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lesson Number Ten, four weeks later on a Friday.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The drive to the empty clearing (or a really, really old parking lot?) took a solid forty five minutes to get to. It was difficult to find an area near Detroit that wasn’t dilapidated buildings or right next to a highway. Despite this, Connor had found a neat little clearing far west of hometown that seemed interestingly secluded from anywhere near Detroit. Gavin assumed that the android realized Gavin’s need for privacy during these lessons, but completely disregarded that it was cold, and that Gavin could freeze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, bot-boy, what is it, two degrees outside?” He said, pulling his jacket closer to his body. His wings were fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>freezing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They’d never been this cold before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor regarded him curiously. “It’s 33, and completely sunny. I don’t see the issue, as long as you have a jacket.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You asshat,” Gavin gritted through his teeth, “It's </span>
  <em>
    <span>windy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor seemed to consider it for a moment, realizing what he meant. The android’s posture suddenly stiffened as his wings pulled in close. “My apologies. If you would like to go--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck that, I’m here, aren’t I? Let’s get on with it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor nodded. “We’ve gone over all of the information I had, even though I simplified it per your request.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin shrugged, scoffing. “We’re not all supercomputers, genius.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And today,” Connor continued as if Gavin hadn’t said anything, “We’re going to work on wing strength. I’ve observed your wings these past weeks and discovered they’re incredibly weak despite their size, and while today will help this will be something you need to work on your own.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin bristled at the comment. Wing strength? Gavin frequented the gym the DPD housed, no matter how small it was. When he went before his Manifestation, he’d always discreetly eye the strength machine tucked into the corner. No one really used it; cops already had the strength, but sometimes he’d see Tina and Chris betting on who could lift more. Besides that, the machine was largely left untouched. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not for long, it seems. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Detective? Are you ready?” Connor said, snapping Gavin out of his thoughts. Adjusting his jacket once again, Gavin nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, to start I’m going to lead you through some stretches. Just mirror me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s face burned as he stretched with Connor. What was this, some kind of yoga class? He felt dumb for a few minutes, until the burn and stretch actually started to feel good. At this point he more enthusiastically mirrored Connor, trying to match him as well as possible, the ache of the muscles pulling taut borderline intoxicating. As he followed the android he watched his usually stiff posture melt into something more natural, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the way Connor’s feathers reflected light onto the ground.  It was all sort of… fascinating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It ended a little bit too soon in Gavin’s opinion. Connor straightened back into robotic stature and waited for the human to rise. Connor was talking even before Gavin had stood up straight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One of the strength exercises that you’ll be able to work on at home is generally considered the wing equivalent of a plank. It’s going to strengthen the avis pectoralis and avis triceptus. Avis biceptus is a little bit more difficult and may take a partner or a machine.” Pausing for a moment, Connor flung his wings out, stirring up dry pieces of grass and dirt in the process. The tops of his wings laid perfectly parallel to the ground. “Please adopt this position.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Easy, Gavin thought, copying him. He could do this in his sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor’s eyebrows furrowed and he abandoned the position as he walked up to Gavin. “You aren’t making your wings parallel to the ground. They’re tipping upwards and the joint is sagging.” Then, carefully with slender hands Connor flattened out the joint and pushed his left wing parallel to the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The touch was incredibly intimate, even if Connor hadn’t meant it in such a way. The way his fingers adjusted Gavin’s feathers and caressed his wing made something in Gavin wanna swoon and vomit at the same time. The adjustment on his right side elicited the same response-- warmth, crawling up and down his back. The sensation was new and interesting, and almost enough to distract Gavin from how much his muscles fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>burned</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Logically he knew this was good, pain meant his muscles would rebuild stronger. But damn if he didn’t start sweating and panting like a bitch. His wings trembled with the effort. Connor stood directly in front of him, just. Staring. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How much more time?” Gavin seethed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s been one minute and forty five seconds. You have forty five seconds left.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin groaned, face contorting in pain. It hurt so bad. His legs were going to give out. He panted, chin falling to his chest as he tried to hold on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No problem. No problem at all.” Gavin lied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor’s voice cut clear through the pain. If Gavin felt a hand on his shoulder, he may have imagined it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course it isn’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s eyes screwed shut as he grunted with the effort. This was humiliating. His pride, his sweet, sweet pride, he can feel it screaming in agony right alongside his wings. Now his shoulders started to strain-- he knew he didn’t need them for this exercise, but he’d been tensing them hard enough for them to start to ache now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor-- sweet Connor’s voice piped up. “That’s it, Detective.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin unceremoniously drops his wings lax, a groan ripping through his throat. His head head snapped back up to look at Connor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, shit, shit ow...” Gavin groaned. “You’re a sadistic piece of shit. Fuck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor seemed miffed, immediately shooting back with, “You didn’t stop.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah, because of his pride, not for Connor. No, of course not. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The freezing wind sliced through his layers of feathers, sending shivers up his wings, Avis, and back as he ruffled them, trying to help them retain heat. His chest was thrumming with warmth and the endorphins following a heavy exercise flooded his system. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok,” Connor said, interrupting Gavin’s blissful reverie. “Let’s do it again.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a couple things Gavin had found he really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really,</span>
  </em>
  <span> liked about wings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grooming, or preening, if you wanted to be specific, was one of them. It quickly became one of his favorite pastimes after work and on his off days. He’d discovered his love of it after a particularly stressful day at work -- too many cases, not enough progress, Fowler breathing down his fucking neck, you know. The usual. He’d come home in a flurry, chucking his bag into a corner and quickly had his face become acquainted with his couch cushion, smushing his face as hard as he could into the cheap fabric. He let his wings drape awkwardly over both sides of the couch with a sigh, hating how his feathers felt how your hair does after you part it the wrong way.  It all felt out of place, and Gavin gently yelled into his cushion before forcing himself to sit up properly. Hastily, he carded his fingers through the feathers in an effort to make the feeling subside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he did it again. And again. And again. And soon enough, Gavin had been wholeheartedly combing through his feathers. Each run through sent waves of warmth down his back, feeling that sweet satisfaction of righting a wrong. Usually, Gavin would be flustered at how he could fall under the thrall of something as simple as combing his wings, but after such a trying day he couldn’t find it in himself to care as he made sure every feather was in its place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After his frantic preening, he took to the internet to answer some of the questions. Apparently it was called an </span>
  <em>
    <span>autocaumlin </span>
  </em>
  <span>response, basically meaning self-calm, and it was a response triggered by the stimulation of the sensitive nerves on the wings. Apparently wings had a lot more to them than Gavin thought. How sappy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Very quickly Gavin had taken up the task of taking proper care of his wings, including even going as far as to discreetly purchasing feather conditioners. Sure, it was embarrassing, but his wings felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and it felt like he was doing something right for once in his life. His wings caught looks from coworkers and strangers alike, every glance making Gavin smile smugly. Something wretched in him thrived off the attention he was garnering, and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> attention, right? Awe, yes. Envy, maybe not so much. But he liked it either way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But no matter how much he conditioned, preened, combed and groomed, Gavin was still consistently enraptured by Connor and his wings, how they seemed to glow in low light and how they had a gentle iridescence in direct sunlights, and their blue shade that made concentrating difficult. There was absolutely no way Connor hadn’t noticed, either. Gavin had definitely been caught staring a handful of times. He just hoped that this… fixation would clear up soon. In the meantime, he’d just keep preening. And not thinking. About the dipshit. Yeah.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Work at the precinct continued on as normal. Case, case, another case, investigation. You know, the works. Only a couple had been truly difficult in the past few months, and even then he’d cleaned them up, not questions asked. Things were smooth, with the only real difference being how he’d spent his free time before and after the revolution. Instead of curling up on his grimy couch and flicking on a soap opera like some middle aged woman, he now was attending his local gym more often and spent a good amount of his downtime working with Connor, trying to even have a glimpse of what was innate for others. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would be okay, though. What could possibly go wrong?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lesson Number Sixteen, on a sunny Friday.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What a fucking joke. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What could possibly go wrong?</span>
  </em>
  <span> my ass. Ten minutes into the recital of all the bones in a wing, Gavin’s phone rang.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit, uh,” fumbled Gavin, “Can I take this?” at Connor’s nod he scurried off behind a tree and answered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck do you want, Tina?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A scoff echoed from the other side of the line. “We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for an hour, Gavin, I was starting to get worried.” He could hear some commotion through the phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The fuck is the problem? Your calls get through my silencer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was Fowler, Gavin. Why the hell would you silence your boss?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Gavin sighed, “‘</span><em><span>Cause I</span></em> <em><span>don’t like to get calls</span></em><span>, Tina. Why was he trying to call me?”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s been another murder.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, shit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One more to add to the pile, he thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Six android murders in two months. All grisly, all mutilations, but just different enough to have the DPD sweep aside the term “serial killer”. Gavin knew better, anyways. The DPD was a bunch of fools, afraid to put the term “serial killer” because it’d cause too much panic. Problem was, they were good at covering their tracks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too</span>
  </em>
  <span> good. They could never access the memories without information on the Android itself. Serial number, name, etc, but all were inaccessible in one way or another. Usually serial killers had a lot of difficulty with this. Too many variables, too much vigor, the like. It was like a fowl walking for the first time; all clumsy steps and having too many limbs to know what to do with. This person worked perfectly, leaving nothing behind to signal that it might be the same person.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which frankly, made it all the more terrifying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This, coupled with the fact Gavin could lose his fucking job at any point if it became known he couldn’t fly, ended up being a pretty fucking big source of stress.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gavin?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Agh, yeah,” Gavin said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’ll be there in thirty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tina squawked from the other side of the phone. “Thirty? How far out of town are you-” Gavin ended the call. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, he peeked around the side of the tree and waved Connor over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ve gotta go-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I heard,” Connor interrupted, stepping past him in a move towards the car. “I don’t know why you bothered going behind the tree.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Gavin felt his face go hot</span>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Dance of the Assholes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some developments happen on the case, Gavin gets a partner (for a while), and shit just seems to go poorly for a while.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The scene was the usual. Which is fucked to think, “usual”, but at this point Gavin was too overwhelmed to care. </p><p>Usually, it’s an android, skinless, seriously messed up, and tossed into an alley or a dumpster. The last time, it had been a male android thrown in a dumpster behind a gas station. This time, it was a female android given the “alley treatment”.</p><p>Gavin ducked past the yellow tape and into the scene, Connor close behind. The android was immediately on the vic, searching for any fingerprints or anything that would result in a lead. Gavin watched idly as he carefully lifted the android’s stained wing and picked a loose feather from it. As Connor inspected the vic, Gavin took a moment to look at the surroundings in the alley. The echoes of the alley made Gavin want to crawl out of his skin. A skitter there— a footstep there. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why he was so jumpy.</p><p>“It’s either a JB200, RM400, or an AK700, Detective, with a distinct marking on its left shoulder. Maybe a repair?” Connor called. “It’s covering the serial number. Impossible to read, like all the others.” Gavin grunted out something in response.</p><p>He toed up to the dumpster, wings spread for balance, and took a long gander to what was sitting inside. Bag, bag, paper bag, plastic bag, severed head---</p><p>Wait, what the everloving fuck?! Severed head? Gavin yelped as he flung himself backwards. </p><p>“JESUS! Connor, take a look at this!” He strode away from the dumpster as quickly as possible, and shooed Connor over.</p><p>Connor looked over the dumpster and made a face. “Detective, it’s just a head. I thought there was something dangerous--”</p><p>“Okay, okay, tin can? Lesson number whateverthefuck--” Gavin rubbed a hand over his face, “do <em> not </em> say shit like that.” </p><p>Connor shrugged. “It <em> is </em> just a head. Look,” he said, reaching into the dumpster. Gavin was about to jump over and swat Connor’s hand outta the can when the android lifted something up. </p><p>Oh. </p><p>An innocent-looking mannequin head was being held by the hair. Gavin suddenly felt very, very foolish. Connor tossed it back into the dumpster without fanfare. </p><p>Gavin looked away. “Don’t be getting your fingerprints all over the scene, toaster. I’d hate for you to fuck it up.” He wanted to whack his head on the wall. Why did you say something like that? You don’t want to drive him away! He’s keeping your fucking job!</p><p>Connor gave him a look. “I don’t have fingerprints, Detective--”</p><p>“Yeah I know,” Gavin said, feeling even more dumb. “Let’s just… leave this to someone else for now.” </p><p>Connor nodded, and then looked over Gavin's shoulder, LED spinning yellow for a few, lazy turns. “Lieutenant! I didn’t know you’d be here.” Connor exclaimed, breezing past Gavin.</p><p>Something flitted across his thoughts, something akin to ‘<em> loyal puppy’ </em>, but it was gone before Gavin could process it. He turned around, a glare primed and ready.</p><p>And there he was, man of the hour. Hank was standing a few feet behind him, arms crossed in a clear ‘I mean business’ stance. Fuck. What did he want?</p><p>“Where the hell have you been, Connor?” He said, giving him and Connor a wary look. Gavin almost scoffed at the action, but he did roll his eyes. Hank obviously saw and Gavin could visibly see him restrain himself from saying something. Instead, he put a hand on Connor’s shoulder and turned him around to face Gavin.</p><p>“In case you’ve forgotten, Reed, Connor ain’t your partner. And he’s got work to do. With his partner.” Hank said, deadpan. He wasn’t angry, but he came off a little confused and exasperated. Gavin offhandedly noted that he looked like he’d put effort into getting ready that day, and his wings weren’t exceptionally unkempt.  How things change.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. I got it. Stop hoggin’ the ‘droid.” Gavin tucked his wings behind him. “But if <em> you’ll </em> excuse <em> me </em>, I have to make progress on this case.” He began to walk back to the car when a big, tawny wing blocked his path. Gavin swung around to face Anderson, who had put it there. “The fuck, Anderson?” </p><p>Hank had the decency to look sheepish, even if it was very little. “About that-- uh, hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this one’s ours now.”</p><p>Gavin froze. Something hot coursed in his core, spreading out to his skin. </p><p>“<em> What?”  </em></p><p>“Don’t hate the messenger, Reed. Apparently it would’ve been an over-the phone announcement, but you weren’t picking up the Captain’s calls.”</p><p>But--  Tina didn’t say anything! She would’ve said something, Gavin trusts her to be honest with him, so why didn’t she-- </p><p>Tina was a beat cop, Gavin realized. She probably wouldn’t be privy to that info. She most likely overheard that there was another murder and assumed it was for Gavin. Shit. Fuck. Fuck! Why would Fowler take the case from him? He was doing fine! The only thing that Anderson had the he didn't have was… Connor. An android. He sneered.</p><p>“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Gavin seethed. He can’t take him away from the case! It was just getting started. His wings flexed, his flight feathers rippling threateningly.</p><p>Hank wasn’t phased. “From what I’ve heard,” he answered, “that’s not the worst part. But <em> I </em>,” he pointed at himself, “Ain’t gonna be the one to relay that one. Cap wants you at the station.” Gavin shook with tension. What the fuck?!</p><p>Connor jogged after Gavin as he stormed to the car, looking confused. “Detective, I apologize. If it weren’t for my poorly timed lesson you wouldn’t have had to--”</p><p>“Fuck off, Connor!” Gavin spat, spinning around to face the android. “Leave me alone, fuckin’ android! Don’t pretend that you care, for god’s sake! Go bother Anderson why don’t you!” </p><p>Connor stepped back, as if the strike had been physical. His LED flashed red as he brought his wings tightly to his back. Regaining composure. Gavin didn’t give him a chance to say anything as he slammed the door shut and drove off. </p><p>Not two minutes later did his gut burn with shame. The ‘droid didn’t deserve that. </p><p>Whatever, he thought, shaking his head. Forget about it, you fuck-up.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The station was completely quiet until Reed, the force of nature, came barrelling through. Already with a shout on his lips, he stormed up into Fowler’s tinted office. </p><p>“What the fuck, cap? Why’d you reassign my case?! I was making progress on it!” Gavin fumed, hand slamming down on his desk. Fowler jumped from his seat and whipped to face him. </p><p>“That’s none of your business, Reed. Get your hands off the glass. I put up with a lot of your shit, even stand up for you sometimes.” Reed had to admit, he was right. “Don’t add property damage to the growing list, <em> please </em> .” Fowler retorted. His wings flared out from behind him, miffed. He swiftly turned off the monitor of his computer and gave Gavin a good, hard look. “And since you already seem to know <em> that </em>, I assume you already know your new partner.”</p><p>Gavin paused. Thought. And considered. The only thing that came to mind was a resounding <em> ???? </em>. </p><p>Partner? Everyone was already partnered up, ‘sides him. Unless they were going back to what they did before he Manifested, where they’d send a beat cop with him in case they needed someone in the skies. But… he had Manifested. That didn’t make any sense. </p><p>Fowler seemed to see the confusion on his face. Choosing to relieve him of his burden, he spoke up. </p><p>“We’ve gotten a new detective here. Not from the academy, mind you, so not a rookie, but a… ‘gift’ from the feds, I guess.” Fowler motioned over Gavin’s shoulder. Apparently, in his rush to question Fowler, Gavin had completely overlooked the other person in the room. </p><p>“Reed, I’m sure you’re already, uh, acquainted with our new staff member.” </p><p>Gavin turned around. It was almost comedic how it all happened. He turned, and sitting in one of the chairs was an unpleasantly familiar face. Lazily looking around the room, was the shitstain from the FBI. Gavin’s gut rolled in disgust and apprehension, like he’d eaten something bad.</p><p>Jonathan Blakes gave a crooked smile and a lazy wave. “Hey, Icarus.” Gavin died a little on the inside.</p><p>Gavin turned back to Fowler, incredulous. “You’re fuckin’ kidding me.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Gavin sat stock still in his car, body coiled tight like a snake ready to strike. First the case, and now this? Gavin thought his luck had started to turn when he Manifested, but no. Guess not. Some vengeful deity was back to nailing him down, like always. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, the material pulling at his skin. Gavin watched as the muscles in his hands and wrists flexed, and then dropped them to the bottom of the wheel. This was fucked.</p><p>“Are we gonna get going? Or are we just gonna sit here and dawdle?”</p><p>Gavin slowly rolled his head to look at Blakes. The new detective smirked and shrugged. “Just sayin’,” he gave Gavin a jovial smack on the shoulder, which he quickly brushed off. “If you’re in enough hot water to lose your case, <em> and </em> to a ‘droid, I think it’d be best if we, y’know,” he said, waving his hands in a vague motion, “do things?”</p><p>Gavin wanted to choke him. Wrap his hands around his stupid little neck and <em> squeeze </em> . “Frankly, piss-boy, I think that’s none of your business.” he retorted, “and speaking of ‘doing things’, what’d <em> you </em> do to get shot down to the DPD, huh? Finally run out of daddy’s help? Too many behavior infractions?”</p><p>Blakes scoffed. “Yeah, like you’re the one to be talking about behavior, Icarus.”</p><p>“Don’t fucking call me that.”</p><p>“It’s true, ain’t it?”</p><p>Gavin didn’t respond. He wasn’t going to entertain the asshole. Hah, he thought bitterly. Imagine that. Pot, kettle. </p><p>Blakes rolled his eyes and absently tapped his fingers on the center console as Gavin drove away from the station. “What’ve we been given?” Blakes asked.</p><p>Gavin ignored the question in favor of another. “How in the hell does FBI work translate to detective work?” He Said. “Did <em> daddy </em> get you the job--”</p><p>“Would you shut the fuck up?”</p><p>“Whoa-hoah-hoah there!” Gavin snarked, a grim satisfaction stirring in his gut. “I hit a nerve? Guess it’s true, then,” he continued. He braked maybe a little hard for a red light. “That you never could stop taking your pop’s help after you got out of the aca-”</p><p>“I said <em> shut the fuck up </em>!” Blakes shouted. Gavin flinched, not expecting him to take the bait. Blakes slammed his hand on the door, feathers ruffling unpleasantly. “You’re going to shut the fuck up and tell me where we’re going.”</p><p>Gavin, in a moment of pettiness, ignored him and continued to drive. Looking at his dash he checked the temperature, in a passing curiosity. It was cold. What’s new. It was always cold. </p><p>The rest of the drive was in a tense silence, with Blake having crossed his arms and stared forward for the time. Gavin still took his turns a little sharp and his stops a little fast regardless of how the other man in the car was feeling.</p><p>Idly, Gavin reflected back on his time with Connor earlier in the day. Fuck, he thought. He really dropped the ball on that one, with the whole ‘I’m mad so I’m going to lash out’ thing. Stupid. Why do you have to do things like that, Gavin? To the one person you’re trying to keep on your good side, too. Do better next time, Gavin. </p><p><em> Why can’t you be more like your brother? </em> </p><p>The intrusive thought made him slam on the brakes. He heard Blakes curse as he was flung into his seat belt. Blakes looked at him like he was crazy. “The hell, Reed?”</p><p>Gavin internally screamed and said simply, “We’re here.” and got out of the car. It was an ordinary suburban house, if a little run down. It was the epitome of the American Dream, if you left it to rot for a year or so. The picket fence was weathered and stained brown, and the storm shutters on the windows used to be painted a peculiar shade of green, before getting old. </p><p>Overall, it looked like it had aged terribly</p><p>“What a dump,” Blakes said, behind him. “Mind telling me <em> why </em> we’re here? Now that we’re actually here?”</p><p>Gavin rolled his neck and shoulders, readjusting his wings from the car ride. “Burglary. A few days old--happened while the residents were out on vacation.” Stepping up onto the concrete porch, he readied his hand to knock. “Can’t believe they took me off the case for a burglary. Homicide Detective, my ass.”</p><p>Before he had the chance to know, however, a doorbell sounded from inside the house. Confused, Gavin looked toward Blakes, who had apparently taken it upon himself to ring the doorbell while he was waiting. Gavin gave him a clear ‘you serious?’ look. Blakes only stared back, daring him to say something.</p><p>Fuckin’ weirdo. </p><p>Not a moment later did a kindly looking older woman open the door. “Oh, hello! I was wondering when they’d send someone to investigate. Come on in,” she greeted. Her plain-looking wings were tucked very politely behind her back.</p><p>As the two walked through the door, Gavin allowed himself to be wowed by the juxtaposition between the exterior and the interior. While the outside was (unfortunately quoted from Blakes) ‘a dump’, the inside was awash with homely qualities and aspects. Not an inch of the walls was uncovered, whether it be family photos, art, or lesser-art (by little kids, presumably). The woman who’d greeted them was standing proudly in the opening hallway. Gavin duly shook her hand.</p><p>“Good evening, Mrs. Turner. I’m Detective Reed and this is,” Gavin hesitated, “Jonathan Blakes.” He could feel Blakes spear a glare through the side of his head. Whatever, the dick. “We’re here to respond to a reported robbery?”</p><p>The woman smiled and patted Gavin on the arm, “It’s Lorelai to you, Detective Reed.” She said, wings fluttering. Gavin immediately went on the defense. <em> Too kind </em> , he thought. <em> She’s either hiding something or wants something. </em> He took a moment to look at Blakes and-- Jesus, he was eating it up, wasn’t he. Kind old ladies can’t do anything, right? Ha. </p><p>“So, Mrs. Turner,” he said, ignoring the look Blakes shot him. Please, Gavin begged silently, look through what she’s doing. “What was stolen?”</p><p>“Well, about that,” She said. <em> Here it is. </em>Her wings shifted down: she was nervous, worried.  “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. Please give me a moment.” And she fled the room.</p><p>As soon she was out of sight Blakes gave him a demeaning smack on the arm with his wing. “You really know your way with the ladies, huh, Icarus? Must be the wings--”</p><p>“Blakes, I need you to listen close.” Gavin said, interrupting him. He pushed Blake’s wing away to grab his shoulder and shove him nearer. “She’s either hiding something or wants us to overlook something, and badly. Trust me when I say this, but no one enjoys having two scruffy cops in their house.” </p><p>Blakes’ face scrunched up. “Scruffy? Asshole--”</p><p>He shut up as soon as Mrs. Turner walked back into the front room, a piece of paper in hand. While they seemed amicable as she approached, Blakes had landed a swift kick to Gavin’s ankle right as she rounded the corner. Gavin was currently hiding his grimace in a smile.</p><p>“Do you know how this individual may have gotten into your home?” He asked, crossing his arms.</p><p>The woman nodded. “It was probably through the garage. It’s broken, has been for a while,” she said sheepishly, “now it’s just a matter of lifting the door, but heaven knows how they got through the lock on the house door. The garage door may be broken but I paid quite a price for a decent digital lock to make up for it.” She seemed worried that she would be in trouble for her poor safety measures. </p><p>Gavin uncrossed his arms and shook his head. “I’m not here to lecture you on safety,” he said. “But we need to look at your garage to see if there’s anything we can get from it.” and at her nod, she led them to the garage.</p><p>Immediately Gavin noticed how high-end the lock was. It wasn’t your run-of-the-mill PIN code lock: this was leagues above that. It seemed to be some sort of fingerprint or biometric scanner-- he couldn’t tell. What he <em> could </em> tell is that it would be an absolute doozy to trick or break it. Connor probably could. Gavin shook away the thought. <em> Not now </em>.</p><p>Blakes whistled. “That’s some money right there.”</p><p>“I know,” Mrs. Turner piped in from behind him. “And now that it seems to have failed, it seems like a waste, doesn’t it?” Gavin peered out of the corner of his eye as she fiddled with the piece of paper in her hand. He’d have to ask about it.</p><p>“Stay here,” Gavin said to Blakes. “I’m going to check out the front.”</p><p>Gavin quickly made his way out front, feathers puffing out to conserve heat as it got darker and colder outside. He put his hands on his hips as he inspected the door. </p><p>Huh. The handle on the front of the garage door was ripped off, and recently. In a fit of curiosity Gavin bent down and wedged his fingers under it, and pulled up. He was met by a brick wall of resistance. Damn, he thought. <em> Heavy </em>. His wings flared out behind him to help steady him as he pulled harder. It budged, but barely. This door must’ve been ancient to weigh this much-- he remembers the door on his childhood home being stupid heavy as well, and that felt like ages ago.</p><p>When he got back into the house he relayed the info. Blakes nodded, and then turned to the resident of the house. She looked incredibly skittish, and the constant shifting of her wings indicated she was very stressed.</p><p>Mrs. Turner was holding a small photo, Gavin realized,  but still refused to turn it around. </p><p>“Mrs. Turner, is that a photo of what’s been stolen?” Blakes asked, beating Gavin to the question. “If it is, ma’am, I’d truly recommend you show us.” Gavin almost snorted. She won’t have a choice if it’s as bad as he thinks.</p><p>She brought a hand to her face, looking distraught. “I’m so worried--” and she turned the photo.</p><p>Gavin furrowed his brows. It was a photo of someone standing politely in front of the house. “Mrs. Turner, if this is a kidnapping why did you file it as a burglary?” Blakes leaned in to look at the photo.</p><p>Her face suddenly went very red. “Well-- it’s because… she’s an android. I called it in for kidnapping-- but no one got back to me on it!”</p><p>Gavin’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish for a moment. Blakes butted in.</p><p>“I may be new to this whole thing, but I am positive that owning an android is very, very fuckin’ illegal,” he said, roughly taking the photo from her. Blakes turned it around in his hand a few times. “Right? I’m not crazy by saying that?”</p><p>Gavin regained his composure. “No, you’re not. They got rights, the whole judiciary shebang.” Blakes put the photo in Gavin’s palm. Looking at it, it seemed completely ordinary, but something was up with this ‘droid, but he couldn’t quite place it.</p><p>When he looked up, Mrs. Turner was nearly in tears. “I know! I felt terrible!” She took a shuddery breath in. “I can’t take care of everything, since my husband passed away, and she’s so kind to me and the grandkids.” Her wings sagged low in despair. “And she never left! I never hid any of the Revolution business from her, and I gave her the opportunity to leave on several occasions.” she trailed off for a moment, “She’s an AK700 domestic work android.”</p><p>Gavin stopped, and backtracked through his day for a second. “She wouldn’t have happened to have some repair work on her shoulder, would she?”</p><p>“She did!” The woman’s wings lifted, hopefully. Gavin felt very small. “She was helping carry things up the stairs when one of my grandchildren ran beneath her and tripped her.” She sniffed, tearful. “She fell down the stairs and damaged her shoulder awfully.” She grappled at his arm, eyes wide. “Do you know where she is?” </p><p>“Mrs. Turner,” Gavin started. After some consideration he brought her to a plush chair adjacent to the hallway. Why was he doing this like it was her husband or something? Blakes would shit on him for this in the car ride back for sure, but… this woman was already hit so hard by the ‘droid being missing. “I’m sorry, but we have reason to believe your android was, uh,” Gavin said, “killed yesterday. We found her--her body in an alley. I’m sorry.” He thought back to the android in the alley, with all the blue blood, and him shouting at Connor.</p><p>Mrs. Turner’s face morphed into one of mortification, then, slowly, her eyes welled up with tears and she buried her eyes in her hands. What did this android mean to her? How could she care so much about something… so plastic? Gavin soured at the thought. Maybe he <em> did </em> know, after all. </p><p>“I hate to ask this of you,” Gavin said, kneeling down next to her in a surprising show of sincerity. “But we’re going to need you to stop down at the station sometime this week.”</p><p>Face still hidden, Lorelai nodded. Jesus, he thought. </p><p>“We’re going to operate under the assumption that the AK700 stayed here willingly, ma’am.” Gavin consoled. Lorelai looked up, face stained with tears. There’s been enough loss tonight, he thought. “Actually, ma’am, but if you don’t mind, we’re going to see if we can confirm the body on our own first, but if we can’t we’ll call you in.”</p><p>Lorelai’s face twisted, tears filling her eyes again. Gavin hated having to deliver the bad news. They usually sent someone more… sensitive, like Chris. He didn’t want to force her to look where it would pain her endlessly.</p><p>They both stood up and made their way to the front door. “Thank you for your cooperation,” He sincerely hoped that this android was deviant--or else he’d have to arrest this poor woman later, and that would feel fucked up.</p><p>A bittersweet smile formed on her messy face. She looked down, and then back up again, something gleaming in her eyes. “Her name was Lauren.”</p><p>And they left, nothing else said.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“Some ‘droid, eh?” Blakes said, breaking the silence in the car. “Gotta be something special to make someone feel like <em> that </em> .” he snorted. “Didn’t she say her husband died? Maybe the thing was filling some of the, heh, <em> gaps </em>, left behind.”</p><p>
  <em> Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. Two months ago you would’ve laughed with him, you hypocrite. What changed, huh? Got a pretty android to look at? That’s awfully shallow of you, Gavin. </em>
</p><p>He wanted to toss Blakes to the ground and beat him senseless. </p><p><em> You can choke the shit out of him later, Gav. </em> (For some reason, that one sounded like Tina).</p><p>He remained silent.</p><p> </p><p>----</p><p> </p><p>It was getting late by the time they got back to the precinct. This was partially due to the fact that Gavin refused to use a GPS on the way back and had taken a few wrong turns, but Blakes didn’t seem to notice his shitty sense of direction and had kept quiet. Thank god. </p><p>Quickly breezing into the ‘pen he approached Anderson and Connor, who were sitting idly at their desks. He hoped he’d lost Blakes on the way in, and that the dickwad had found a broom closet to hide in.</p><p>Anderson gave him a knowing look. “How’s Blakes?”</p><p>“Terrible-- but that’s not what I’m here for.” Gavin replied, quickly pulling a chair from an adjacent desk in. “Fowler sent me on a burglary call, right? Turns out what was burgled was the ‘droid from this morning.”</p><p>Hank leaned in. “You’re shitting me.”</p><p>Gavin shook his head, putting a hand on the desk and pulling the chair closer. “Nope. Which also means we know enough to access the memories left over and maybe --”</p><p>“<em> Hey, Icarus </em>! It ain’t your case anymore, give it a rest!” Blakes said, dropping a hand on Gavin’s shoulder. He sneered, Avis twitching his wings in annoyance. Just what he needed. </p><p>Gavin brushed the hand off and turned to look at him, a snarl on his lips. “When our case has connections--”</p><p>Blakes made a face. “<em> Has connections blah, blah, blah, </em>” he mocked. “I know why you’re here.”</p><p><em> What? </em>Gavin looked over at Connor, who’d been strangely silent the whole time.</p><p>The android refused to look at Gavin and stared forward, LED spinning yellow. <em> What the fuck? </em> He thought, red stinging his vision. Why was he ignoring Gavin? First the case, then a new partner, then <em> this </em>?</p><p>“Yeah, that’s right.” Blakes smiled cruelly. “You’re here for your little android boyf--” </p><p>His sentence was cut short.</p><p>The wonderful feeling that was choking the daylights out of Jonathan Blakes was euphoric. He had swiftly swapped their positions, Gavin now standing over Blakes, whose head was slammed into the desk. Blakes scrabbled at his hands, wings flapping wildly as he tried to escape the grip. Gavin’s shoulder popped when he tensed, squeezing harder. Everything went fuzzy as he took out all his rage on the little shit’s neck. </p><p>The case. His lips peeled back. He could feel a pulse under his fingertips.</p><p>The partner. His knuckles turned white. He could see the whites of Blakes’s eyes tinge red.</p><p>Connor. He adjusted his grip, going--</p><p>Before he could crush Blakes’s windpipe something pulled him off. He barely heard Hank shout at him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Connor, staring at him in shock. Something in Gavin dissolved but before anyone could say anything he’d bolted past the receptionist’s desk and outside. </p><p>A cold gust buffeted him back to reality. Gavin quickly maneuvered his jacket off, tossed it onto a bench, and then sat down on it. The cold steadied his head. He didn’t care if it bit his skin and made his teeth chatter. As long as he got a hold of himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remarked about how cold it was so late in the season, but the thought never surfaced. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t breathe. </p><p>
  <em> Back to square one, huh? </em>
</p><p>Gavin shook his head. No. Stop. </p><p>
  <em> You know exactly why he makes you so mad. </em>
</p><p>Stop! Gavin pulled his sleeves up, feeling the frigid air raise goosebumps on his skin. </p><p>
  <em> It’s because he’s right, you know. He’s right, and you can’t handle the truth so you lash out and hurt people. Because at least it’s not reality, right? At least you keep your own little bubble, where none of this happened, and the only thing to blame is your shitty self. </em>
</p><p>Gavin clutched his head, bowed over his lap. It was too much-- too many things all at once trying to fuck him over--</p><p>“Detective Reed?”</p><p>And everything stopped. </p><p>“...Detective Reed?” Connor repeated. Gavin looked at the android, standing right outside the door. His LED spun yellow, yellow, red, yellow, yellow, yellow, red, red---</p><p>“Detective Reed, are you okay?” He stepped closer, peering under Gavin. Oh yeah, he’d taken his jacket off. </p><p>“It’s 24 degrees Fahrenheit outside with a windchill of 8. You should be wearing your jacket.” </p><p>Before he could register it, Connor was seated next to him, a massive, dark wing blocking the wind. </p><p>Gavin watches the wind push around the feathers, some shaking like leaves in the fall.</p><p>When Connor spoke, it was low, and gentle. “I believe you may have just had an anxiety attack--"</p><p>“Don’t<em> , </em> Connor.” Gavin said. “Not right now. Please.”</p><p>He nodded. Everything was silent, even if just for a few moments. He felt his heart slow, and the chill finally got to him and he shivered. He leaned forwards and pulled out the jacket, and, not wanting to move from this little haven of quiet, just held it in his arms, savoring the peace in his head. </p><p>Connor gently picked the jacket from him and laid it over his shoulders.</p><p>“I should go,” Gavin said.</p><p>Connor just looked at him, something indecipherable on his face. Slowly, he stood and stepped away, tucking his wing back behind him. </p><p>Gavin pulled the jacket back on and drove back to his apartment in a haze.</p><p> </p><p>-----</p><p> </p><p>His apartment was cold. Clumsily he threw his hand at the thermostat to turn it up, and looked through his fridge for something to eat. Pushing aside some near-empty cartons and boxes, he came across a box with some leftover takeout in it. </p><p>Grabbing a fork and sitting on the sofa, he ate it cold. It tasted funny, and was probably a little past its prime, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. </p><p>His thoughts wandered back to… Connor. His attack. Strangling Blakes. After he’d gotten his hands on his ‘partner’’s throat it had all gone downhill, like it always did. Gavin figured that he’d learn, but. Guess not. </p><p>But what had happened, then? Connor had followed him and, what, <em> comforted </em> him? That seemed like the wrong word choice, ‘cause Connor seemed a little stiff for ‘comfort’. Maybe ‘console’? Why would he, anyways? Gavin had cussed him out earlier in the day, and he’d been ignored for it right before he attacked Blakes. He’d seemed pissed. Well, as pissed as Connor can get, he guessed. He hated to admit it, but it was…scary, how fast he brought him out of his own head.</p><p>His phone buzzed in his pocket. He debated checking it. After it buzzed twice more he mustered up the will to pull it out.</p><p>
  <b>RK800 #313 248 317 (11:20): Did you arrive home safely, Detective Reed?</b>
</p><p>Before checking the others he quickly put him as a contact. What an eyeful.</p><p>
  <b>Connor (11:25): Detective Reed?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (11:26): ?</b>
</p><p>Gavin snorted through a mouthful of bad Chinese. Persistent. He lethargically plucked out a reply with one hand.</p><p>
  <b>You (11:26): Yeah</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (11:27): Good. Get some sleep. See you tomorrow, Gavin.</b>
</p><p>A small smile wormed its way onto his face. It was confusing, and scary, but he really… <em> appreciated </em> Connor. Sometimes. Peering into the takeout box, he stuck his tongue out as he tossed the rest into the trash. Making his way to his bed, he barely had enough time to strip to his boxers before he passed out into the inky blackness.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>gavin: who are you?<br/>blakes: you but like, five months ago<br/>gavin: *grabby hands at his neck* shut up, i don't want to think about that</p><p>thanks for reading! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Gee, murderer, why does your mom let you have TWO pairs of wings?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some information is revealed about their potential killer, and Gavin does NOT take Connor on a date. It's purely informational.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>TOP 5 MOST STUNNING CELEBRITY WINGS by Buzzfeed Studios</p><p>5.) JEFF GOLDBLUM - While he may be pushing 86, Goldblum has always lived up to his name. Just look at the beautiful shimmer that….</p><p>4.) CRISTIANO RONALDO - This retired pro-footballer’s wings haven’t lost their gorgeous lustre and has remained a staple of natural wing beauty ever since…..</p><p>3.) ELIJAH KAMSKI - Wow! They say God created man in his own image, and when you look at Kamski’s beautifully unique wings, it’s easy to believe! Their unique shimmer and tone are scarcely found naturally….</p><p>---</p><p>Gavin had soup for breakfast, which sounds weird, but ended up being strangely satisfying. After his measly (and absurdly questionable) dinner of old Chinese takeout the night before, his stomach had woken him up before his alarm had. As he stumbled out of bed, starving, he flung open his cabinets and was faced with probably the only things worth eating in his house: the canned soups that Tina had gotten him. He explored his options, settling on a brothy something that would keep him fed, at least until lunch. He heated it up in an old beat up pot, and got ready as it sat on the stove for a few minutes.</p><p>It doesn’t need saying that Gavin basically inhaled the soup. Gavin wasn’t particularly picky or anything, but somehow Tina had always managed to guess what he’d enjoy.</p><p>Oh, shit. Tina.</p><p>She had accidentally misinformed Gavin about his case. He squashed whatever little amounts of anger that welled up from the thought. She didn’t mean it, he told himself. She was only trying to help, as always, and Gavin may not be asking for it but he sure as hell was appreciative for it. Tina was the one to pull him out of his darkest times, and he’d forever be grateful.</p><p>Plus, how could he actually get mad at Tina? She was literally his only friend, right? His mind immediately brought up Connor, but he shook it off. Connor didn’t want to be his friend. After all, Gavin’s been nothing but a prick to him since the day they met. As to why the Android wanted to even strike a deal with him the first place baffled him. Like, flying lessons for humanity lessons? What even was a humanity lesson? Truth be told, Gavin wasn’t sure, and he’d been bullshitting his way through his ‘lessons’, which were pretty much just tips in passing.</p><p>Actually, Gavin thought, since Connor had put so much effort into his lessons, maybe he could do the same for him, too. Just once. To compensate for his shitty behavior.</p><p>God, this was going to be an unmitigated disaster, wasn’t it?</p><p>He drank the last of the broth and was out the door. It probably was, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try, right?</p><p>---</p><p>The second Gavin stepped in the precinct Fowler dragged him into his office. He had hoped, somewhere deep in his mind, that for some god forsaken reason Fowler wouldn’t have caught wind of last night. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that the Captain was probably sitting in his office and saw the whole thing.</p><p>Fowler was deceptively calm as he gestured for Gavin to sit down. Not wanting to provoke him, he complied and waited silently for the other man to say something.</p><p>“One day.” Fowler said. “One. Day.” He leveled Gavin with an icy look. “Is all it took, Reed?”</p><p>His face burned in shame. He kept a straight face but on the inside he was embarrassed. Yeah, it was, he thought.</p><p>Fowler ran a hand over his bald head, exasperated. “Do you know why Blakes was with us, Reed?”</p><p>“No, sir.”</p><p>If Fowler noticed the unusual respect from Gavin, he didn’t express it. “As you may know, Blakes happens to be Perkins’s step-son. What you definitely don’t know is that Perkins is in some bad shape after being attacked by some of his own team’s military ‘droids.”</p><p>Well, then. That would explain the touchiness about his dad.</p><p>“The feds deemed it unsafe for him to continue in the FBI and were in the process of reassigning him,” he continued. “He was to be stationed here for a short time as that got sorted out.”</p><p>“Cap,” Gavin started. He didn’t want to hear anymore. He already knew he’d fucked up. He didn’t need Fowler to drag it on longer than it needed to be.</p><p>Fowler raised a hand to silence Gavin. “Reed, I have to apologize.”</p><p>Gavin straightened in his seat. What?</p><p>“I made a few mistakes on this one,” Cap said, crossing his arms. He looked tired. “First, I volunteered our precinct to hold him. Second, I volunteered you to partner with him which they accepted with disturbing speed, since you’re the only detective here without a partner, and three,” he paused, considering his words for a moment. “I should have realized that your personalities would clash, and that you were under a lot of stress at the time.”</p><p>Gavin was in shock. “I, uh,” he waffled, trying to say something, anything.</p><p>Fowler stopped him before he could start. “No, you’re not getting off scot-free. Strangling a coworker-- no, anyone, for that matter, is unacceptable. Desk duty for two weeks. Blakes is getting transferred to the Sixth, and hopefully you two never cross paths again. ” Fowler rounded his desk and sat there. “Now, out.”</p><p>He was fast to leave. That was infinitely confusing. Fowler had sometimes had moments where he seemed he cared, but that was on a whole new level. He had been, what, volunteered to work with Blakes? That’s… bonkers. And unbelievably tone-deaf, even by DPD standards. Anyone from a million miles away could see that Blakes and he loathed one another, and apparently Fowler’s ability to miss that is outstanding. Now that he’s thought of it, though, he pretty much did the same thing with Hank and Connor, hadn’t he? But that one had at least turned out well. He and Blakes, on the other hand…</p><p>He found his way to the break room for some ‘coffee’, and was surprised to see Tina giving him a sheepish smile from the corner table.</p><p>“Hey, Gav.” she said. She motioned to the table, where two coffee cups were sitting. Why were there two? Oh-- she probably made one for him already. She must feel really bad about yesterday, then, Gavin thought.</p><p>“Hey, Tina. Thanks for the cup.” and he took his place at the table.</p><p>“I am so sorry, Gavin.” she said immediately, wings dropping low. “I’d heard that there was another scene for your case so I jumped the gun and called--”</p><p>Gavin gave her a playful shove. “It’s fine, Tina.” She had his best interest at heart, anyways. She looked at him with thinly veiled affection.</p><p>“Still,” she said, sipping her coffee. “What was the deal with all that, anyways?”</p><p>He lifted the cup to his lips and took a big gulp, savoring the shitty bitterness. He purposely set it down back in the coffee ring already made on the table to avoid more of a mess.”Jeez, Teens, it was bad. First, I lose the case, right? I’m pissed, I cuss out Connor, I come back to the station to find out I’ve been assigned a partner.”</p><p>Tine gasped. “No way!”</p><p>“Yes way!” Gavin laughed. When it happened, it was terrible, but now Gavin couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe because it’s funny, but also probably because it helped it all seem less awful. “And it’s no one other than Jonathan Blakes!”</p><p>“You mean that dickbag from the academy?”</p><p>“One-hundred percent.” He replied, putting a hand on the table.</p><p>She snorted. “How’d that all turn out?” she asked, looking around the bullpen. “I don’t see him.”</p><p>Suddenly Gavin’s jacket felt a little too tight, and his face a little warm. “Uh, I… strangled him.”</p><p>Tina nearly dropped her coffee at that, and she took a brief second to recollect herself. When she looked back at Gavin, her look was disbelieving. “You what?! Gavin!”</p><p>“I know! I know, okay? I’m not proud of it.” He hid his face with the styrofoam cup. He chanced a glance at Tina, and she was staring at him with an expectant look. God, she would make a good mother someday.</p><p>“Look, I was under a lot of, uh…. stress,” he muttered. “And Blakes seemed pretty keen on poking and prodding. I got mad. I ran out right after.” He maybe held his cup a little too tightly. His attack was not a highlight of his week.</p><p>Tina seemed to realize what he was implying. She lowered her voice, put a hand on his arm and supportively brought up a wing behind him. “Did you get him good?”</p><p>He snorted. “I’m sure you can ask someone who was there, Teens.” he paused. He saw Connor walk through the bullpen, trailing Anderson with his wings tucked neatly behind him. This was his chance. He tilted his head towards the exit. “I got something I need to take care of,” he said. “Thanks for the coffee,” he called, saluting with the cup as he strided out of the break room. He heard Tina call out behind him.</p><p>“Tell me if you need anything!”</p><p>God, he loved her.</p><p>Gavin made an hesitant beeline for Connor, who was sitting at his desk and scrolling through his computer. Probably scrolling through his case. Gavin’s case. No, no, he told himself, and squashed it down. He noticed Anderson wasn’t at his desk as he got nearer, and glanced at Fowler’s office to see that he was inside. Good, no interruptions, and no one to hear.</p><p>“Hey, Connor,” Gavin greeted, leaning on the android’s desk. Connor’s head shot up, apparently being caught off guard. His LED flashed yellow for a moment before returning to blue. Connor gave him a kind smile and Gavin felt something inside of him turn to jelly.</p><p>“Good morning, Detective. I hope you are doing better this morning.” He said, hand disconnecting from the computer. Gavin watched the skin re-cover the white plasteel of his hand.</p><p>He set his cup down on Anderson’s desk, figuring Connor wouldn’t appreciate a ring on his desk. “Yeah, about that,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to apologize for cursing you out yesterday at the scene. I was, uh, upset about getting the case getting taken, and, well…”</p><p>Connor tilted his head, something gleaming in his eyes. “Thank you for apologizing, Detective, but something tells me that’s not all you wanted to say.”</p><p>Damn him and his perceptiveness. What weirdo android ability was that, anyways?</p><p>“Yeah, I, uhm, wanna make it up to you, if that’s okay.”</p><p>“Of course it’s okay, Detective.”</p><p>Gavind mentally kicked himself. Of course it would be okay! “Well, uh, do you have anything going on after work tomorrow? ‘Cause if you don’t, uh I was thinkin’ of something.” Jesus! Way to sound weird as hell!</p><p>If Connor noticed him struggling, he didn’t say anything. He just nodded, smiling. They stood there, a little awkwardly for a few moments until Connor realized that much silence must’ve been a little odd by the way Gavin was looking at him.</p><p>“I was just about to look at the available memories of the AK700, if you’d like to join me.” Connor said, breaking the silence.</p><p>Gavin nodded and pursed his lips. ”Sure, why not?"</p><p>He was surprised that they now stored android corpses in morgues; even more so in the same ones as humans. Everyone’s equal in death, he thought. That didn’t make the morgue any less creepy.</p><p>Approaching the AK700’s body was odd-- he felt like he knew too much about them. His mind brought up a devastated Lorelai, and he felt guilty. Hopefully this can confirm the identity so she didn’t need to come down and face it.</p><p>“Using the information you’d gathered I was able to collect the purchasing info of Lorelai Turner, which in turn got me the serial number and access to her memory logs, so thank you.” Connor said, approaching the body. Gavin muttered something in return.</p><p>As the skin on Connor’s hand receded to connect to the body, a shudder went through Gavin’s body. Something about this whole scene unnerved him. A large part of it was how being able to probe someone’s mind after their death felt like they were violating some law of life. Let the dead lie, right? But if it helped them catch a killer and save more lives, who was he to complain?</p><p>Connor suddenly ripped his hand away from the body, wings spreading out in an intimidating show of terror. He took a few large steps back, wing knocking something hard. Connor was blinking like he’d just gotten sprayed in the eyes, and Gavin was quick to come to his side.</p><p>“Hey, hey, woah!” he said, stepping forward with his hands out in case the android flailed into him.</p><p>Connor stopped, his LED spinning rapidly, and slowly, mechanically readjusted. It was very deliberate, and Gavin wasn’t sure if he was doing it to not spook him or to have control of himself.</p><p>“Sorry about that, Detective,” Connor said, a little breathy. “I was caught off guard.” He smiled at him, something and a little endearing. “There’s some really important evidence in her memories. We should take them back to the station and talk it through with Hank.” And then, like nothing ever happened, they walked out.</p><p>Gavin nodded, feeling like he’d just gotten whiplash by Connor’s behavior. He’d never seen Connor that-- expressive. Terrified. It sent a shiver up his spine and settled something heavy in his gut.</p><p>Back at the bullpen, Hank was sitting impatiently at his desk, and threw his hands up in frustration when he saw Gavin and Connor walk in.</p><p>“Jesus! I need to put a bell on you or something.” he said. “Where were you?”</p><p>Connor gestured to Gavin, who tried to pointedly ignore the fact he’d stolen Hank’s partner, again. “Gavin accompanied me as I collected information from the AK700.”</p><p>“Great, great, he’s not your partner but fine. What’d you get?”</p><p>The three crowded around Connor’s monitor as he connected to it. “To begin, the deviant AK700’s name was Lauren, and she chose to stay with her former-owner after she deviated.” At hearing this, Gavin was relieved. It seemed that Lauren had cared for Mrs. Turner just as she had the android.</p><p>An image appeared on the screen, of a familiar hallway. “Lauren was planning on surprising Mrs. Turner by buying her a gift for her to recieve when she returned home from visiting family.” The image started moving. It was the android’s point of view, he realized. He watched as the video traveled from the hallway to the garage, and right as her hand pushed down on the handle the door burst open. “She was promptly attacked.”</p><p>“No shit,” Gavin muttered, staring intently at the screen. He watched as the video shook, stuttered, and re-formed in the garage. The android was being dragged by the leg, screaming and clawing at the iron grip on her ankle. The garage door was grabbed by the bottom, and slammed open. And standing there, was the silhouette of an android, LED intact, with… holy shit.</p><p>“What the fuck?” As the perp shifted to look back at the android, so did the two massive pairs of wings on it’s back. It brought a finger to it’s lips, shushing her with a smile. At least that’s what Gavin could make out. The video went staticy, then ended abruptly.</p><p>“That’s what I wanted you to see.” Connor said.</p><p>Anderson tossed his hands up, floored. “So, they just makin’ androids like that now or what?”</p><p>Connor shook his head, changing the screen to a list of android models. They flew past almost faster than Gavin could see. “No, they don’t. The only models with wings built for flying are my own series, the RK line, and a select few models for military use.” He briefly showed them for the two to see. “But,” He continued, brows furrowing. “No androids have ever been produced with two sets of wings.”</p><p>“So this guy can get two but I can’t even get one?” he said, his joke falling flat.</p><p>Hank ignored it. “Were you able to pinpoint the model?”</p><p>“No, I wasn’t. The video’s too dark.” Connor’s mirth melted into frustration, hand not on the computer twitching.</p><p>Gavin shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Well, if no androids have been manufactured with two sets of wings, if someone’s seen it before they’d remember it. I mean, I sure as hell would.”</p><p>“That’s a good idea,” Hank said. Gavin took a moment to relish in the feeling. Yeah, it is. “Con, can we put out a search or something? Maybe Jericho to start on the down-low?”</p><p>“I could ask Markus,” Connor said, pleased with the progression. “It’d have to be discreet though. Since this individual has been targeting androids we’d want to be careful not to cause a panic.”</p><p>“Go ask Fowler for permission,” Hank said, “I need to talk to Reed.” Connor gave him a look, almost in warning, before smiling again at Gavin and turning to Fowler’s cube of an office. (Like seriously, that can’t be functional)</p><p>Hank immediately turned to Gavin when Connor left. “He’s been, uh, smiling a lot at you, huh?”</p><p>Gavin’s mood soured. “What’s it to ya?”</p><p>“Hm,” Hank mused, “nothing.”</p><p>Nothing, my ass, Gavin thought. “It better be nothing, ‘cause technically we’re on the same case now, Hank.”</p><p>“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t be giving your case up that easily.” Hank rolled his eyes. “Which is why I already got it approved by Fowler this morning.” He muttered something like ‘can’t believe I did that’ but Gavin chose to ignore it.</p><p>Surprise after surprise! What was Gavin’s life coming to. He liked excitement, but not like this. This was just weird.</p><p>“Don’t get too excited, Reed. I only did because Connor asked me to.” Hank said, crossing his arms nonchalantly, like it was something. Hank definitely knew something Gavin didn’t, and it kind of left him feeling like a fool.</p><p>God damn it, another surprise! Some deity was trying to give him hypertension. Why would Connor…? Something warm and weird stirred in Gavin’s chest. No, no. Don’t get hopeful. It’ll only hurt.</p><p>So many fucking surprises, Gavin thought. Too many for one lifetime, let alone three months. Wings, murders, androids, more wings, androids with said wings. It was enough to make any man skittish.</p><p>When Connor returned he looked directly at Gavin when he said that it’s been approved.</p><p>God, he really was in deep, wasn’t he?</p><p>---</p><p>The next day passed like a balloon in a windstorm. That is to say, something passingly nice in a clusterfuck environment. The case continued, and there was little else they could do besides wait for someone to recognize the ‘droid. So far, nothing. So that was something. Connor had continued to be weirdly kind to him ever since he apologized, which wasn’t entirely not welcome. Sure, it was a little disconcerting, and it made him a little off-balance, but it was one of the surprises he was fine with, even as it made his guts do somersaults and his legs feel like jello.</p><p>Tina knew something was up, as well, and she always gave him “knowing” glances whenever Connor walked into a room. The funny thing is, she didn’t know the half of it. About their deal, about their lessons, exactly how much Gavin had… taken a liking to Connor. He wanted to tell her , he really did. Maybe after this was all over, but he was so, uh, embarrassed seemed too juvenile, but it was probably true, about his inability to fly. He’d kept doing the exercises Connor told him to, and he’d kept preening like he enjoyed, but he still couldn’t quite… grasp it. Flying was a skill that was lost to Gavin, still, and it frustrated him endlessly, but he was in the deep end now and he couldn’t cop out now.</p><p>Waiting outside of the station for Connor was almost nerve-wracking enough for him to call it off. He contemplated the consequences of fleeing a few times but always brought himself out of it. No, you’re going to do this, Gavin. It’s what a good person would, right? He wasn’t sure but he was sure as steel about making it up to Connor after cursing him out.</p><p>Connor almost spooked him out of his skin when he approached him. Gavin made quick work of smoothing down his feathers to seem more relaxed about the whole ordeal.</p><p>“Good evening, Detective.” Connor said, straightening his tie. It appeared that he was stressed about the case too; this should help, then, Gavin thought.</p><p>“Hey, Connor,” Gavin said, bringing a hand up in a wave. This was going to be fine. Everything was going to be fine.</p><p>“What do you have planned, if I may ask?” he inquired, walking with him to the car.</p><p>“Well, you’ve been putting a lot of, uh, effort and time into my lessons,” he said once they’d seated themselves in his car. “So I figured it was only fair to return the favor, you know?”</p><p>Gavin had put some thought towards this-- he’d searched for android-friendly bars online and found one that didn’t seem too shady. Androids couldn’t get drunk (this was common knowledge) but they could drink some Thirium based drink (also probably common knowledge) so he made sure that this bar also carried those.</p><p>“You can drink those Thirium drinks without repercussions, right?” Gavin asked as he drove. Connor, who’d been sitting quietly in the passenger’s seat, seemed to be pleased at the conversation.</p><p>“Yes, I can. I can also ‘drink’ some normal beverages, but I can’t process them like Thirium.”</p><p>Suddenly curious, Gavin asked, “Whaddya mean ‘can’t process’?”</p><p>“I can’t process it, so it just… sits there. I have to purge it from my system. It’s,” Connor looked a bit sheepish, tilting his head. Gavin watched his LED in the reflection of the windshield. “unpleasant, to say the least.”</p><p>“Uh, gross,” Gavin remarked.</p><p>Connor nodded. “Gross is a good word for it’.” He paused, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “I once drank the Lieutenant’s coffee as a joke, but it ended up being a lot less funny when I had to get rid of it somehow.” Gavin snorted.</p><p>They had arrived at a bar just called ‘Caleb’s’, a not too upscale place with the air of a good ol’ establishment. The whole ‘tried and true’ style of bar; it was also modern enough to cater to androids as well, which is a large part of why he chose it. It’s normal, yet modern. Ish.</p><p>The interior was cozy, and it reminded of a bar that Gavin himself would frequent. A stocked liquor shelf was behind the bar, and a kind-looking stout man was tending to it. No matter how tempting the booze looked, Gavin was planning on taking it easy tonight.</p><p>“So, I decided to take you to the kind of place that makes me feel human, I guess,” he said, “Generally it’s less about the alcohol and more about the camaraderie, but the alcohol is a plus. This place has some of those Thirium things you can, uh, process, if you like. I’m gonna take it easy with some beer, though, so no worries about having to deal with me, drunk.”</p><p>Connor smiled, that indecipherable look in his eyes. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Gavin. I think I’ll try one.”</p><p>How formal. He always sounded like he was speaking in an MLA format, with his fancy words and proper grammar. Gavin flagged down the bartender and ordered an IPA and whatever was consumable for androids. The guy put down his beer and a bottle that looked like a beer, but blue. He was surprised at the similarity-- he’d have to be careful he didn’t take a swig of Connor’s.</p><p>He handed the blue one to Connor, who took it, if a little apprehensively. He watched as he brought it to his lips and sipped. He waited with bated breath, hoping he’d like it. When Connor brought the bottle down, he looked pleasantly surprised, wings twitching in subtle joy.</p><p>“It’s… good!” Connor remarked, inspecting the bottle. “I expected it to overload the sensors in my mouth, but it seems to have some sort of filter. How interesting.”</p><p>Gavin took a sip of his own beer, feeling triumphant. “I’m glad you like it. There’s a pool table in the back, if you’re interested.”</p><p>“Only if you’re interested in getting beat,” Connor teased.</p><p>Oh, it’s on.</p><p>The first game was frankly humiliating. Connor had him beat, and fast. It didn’t help that Gavin had sunk the cue ball and scratched on more than one occasion, and then on top of it only sank two of the ones he was supposed to before Connor pocketed the eight ball. The android had tried to shake hands, but Gavin swatted it aside and called for a rematch.</p><p>The second game went better. Marginally. Part of Gavin’s positive attitude could be attributed to the fact that Connor had removed his jacket and draped it across the back of a chair. Connor still annihilated him, of course, but at least he went out with dignity. Somewhat. Gavin didn’t scratch this time, and had gotten about halfway finished when Connor won. He wasn’t sure if Connor purposely worked a little sloppier to make him feel better, but he had his suspicions. His opponent had polished another two of the Thirium ‘beverages’ while they played, and Gavin tried to keep himself at two, though he did start a third.</p><p>Watching Connor play pool was mesmerizing. Every move was calculated, smooth, and well-executed. One shot found Connor seated on the side of the table for the angle, and the pose made Gavin a little hot under the collar, especially now that Connor took off his jacket. Connor even kept the toe of his shoe on the floor, making the shot legit. (Not that Gavin would mind at this point). The android’s wings shone even under the dull incandescent bulbs in the bar, and Gavin couldn’t keep his eyes off of him. He shook it off. He’s an android.</p><p>“God damn, tin can! You’re making me look like a chump, here!” Gavin laughed, hanging his cue back on the wall.</p><p>Connor followed suit, smirking and crossing his arms, smug. “You said it, not me.” Gavin watched the material of his shirt around his arms. It was strange, he doesn’t think he’d ever seen Connor without his jacket. He snapped out of it, quickly.</p><p>“Ouch,” Gavin said, rubbing his chest over his heart as if Connor’s prod had hurt him.</p><p>Connor jokingly made a dismissive gesture with his nose held high, but relaxed into a smile. Suddenly he froze, looking guilty.</p><p>“I told Hank I’d be home soon,” Connor stated, tilting his head, LED spinning.</p><p>Gavin smirked, grabbed Connor’s jacket and handed it to him. “We better get on our way, then. I’d hate to face Anderson’s wrath.”</p><p>They left Caleb’s smiling and joking. Gavin was very happy how it all turned out. He was so worried that it would all go wrong immediately, but it hadn’t, and it had actually gone somehow better than he thought. Connor was happy, he was happy, and now they were wrapping up an excellent night. He was glad he decided to make it up to Connor.</p><p>As he parked in front Anderson’s house (with only one wrong turn), Connor sat silently in the car for a moment. A few seconds later he seemed to come to a conclusion because he decisively turned to Gavin and said, “Thank you for tonight, Gavin. I had a lot of fun,”</p><p>Connor addressing him by his first name threw him for a loop. It made that warm feeling return, and this time Gavin wasn’t as keen to squash it down. “It-it’s nothing. Don't mention it. Seriously.” he muttered.</p><p>“Still,” Connor murmured. Gavin’s face heated at the intimate quality of the android’s voice.</p><p>Connor exited the car and was greeted at the door by a big dog and a sleepy Anderson, who peered outside and squinted against the headlights. When he saw the car parked, Gavin gave a lazy salute, aiming to look more nonchalant than he was. His heart was beating so fast he thought it was going to puncture his ribcage. Connor turned and waved, beaming. Wow. Ohhhhh wow, the things that did to Gavin. Oh boy. He waved back, and drove off.</p><p>Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Just his fucking luck.</p><p>Gavin ran a hand over his face. Oh, fuck.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>These chapters are pretty old ('old' meaning approx. 3 months, but 100k words has to show some improvement, right? lmaooo) so I've been trying to go back to edit them. There's just WAY too much to go through all of it, though. I'm planning another fic now and I'm excited to start writing. Thanks for reading! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Taking Off</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They have another flying lesson, Gavin gets his ass beat by himself, and Connor continues to be an insufferably kind bastard.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>DEVIANT LEADER MARKUS TO BROADCAST NEXT ADDRESS INTERNATIONALLY on </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>r/news</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>u/JimmyJake04</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>: Oh shit, internationally? That’s gonna ruffle some feathers (</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>^ </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>6k v)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>---&gt;u/</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Lola_Z</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>: Right? How many bucks says Russia’s gonna censor it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>---&gt;u/</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>H00ps00x</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>: idk, those androids at jericho are pretty crafty. theyll find a way</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>--&gt;u/</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Jeanana</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>: can russian droids even deviate? theyre offbrands lmao</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>u/HortonsMOM</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>: I see this going one of a few ways, and none of them are good (</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>^</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> 2k v)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>---&gt;u/</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>breadfat</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>: best case: russia gets their own revolution, androids come out equals</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>  worst: genocide</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>---&gt;u/</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>nunal0n</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>: i mean, love markus, but is this the best idea? It’s gonna attract a lot of attention, especially negative, even just in the states</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>u/deleted</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>: [removed]. (^ -30k </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>v</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>---&gt;u/</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>0zone </em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>MOD</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>: Death threats are unacceptable. Thread closed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>---&gt;u/deleted: [removed]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>---&gt;u/deleted: [removed]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>---</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin took a long, long shower after that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Afterwards he took an equally as long time to clean up and preen his feathers, trying to unwind a little. It worked, barely, but enough to allow him to sleep that night. He was still restless, and woke up on more than one occasion, but it was sleep, and that was good. He was just trying to escape his racing mind that wandered on handsome androids a little too much and work a little too little for his liking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Work the next day left them with no new leads, just like the next. And the day after that, and the day after that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin was getting restless, and Connor must’ve taken notice because on the fourth day with nothing to show for it, when Gavin had gone to the breakroom for no reason six times in three hours, Connor proposed they go out and do a lesson.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you proposing we ditch? Like a couple of highschoolers?” Gavin joked, spinning in his chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor stared blankly and shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, Gavin, I want to get out of here, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s thought process stuttered for a moment at hearing his name. Kicking himself, he stood and grabbed his jacket. “Let’s go, then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lesson Number Seventeen, on… a day.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor directed him to the same lot as last time. Now, however, it was considerably warmer than it was before and some grass had started to poke through the broken concrete slabs. It wasn’t breezy, but clouds occasionally eclipsed the sun to dull its rays causing massive, sluggish shadows that crawled across the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard the car door shut behind him, and Connor came to stand to his side. “Whaddya have planned for today?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor smiled, wings shifting excitedly. “I was thinking we could get to the ‘flying’ part of flying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin whipped his head around, nearly injuring himself in his haste. His jaw had dropped open. He started nodding, smiling with joy as he began tapping his shoe on the ground, trying to release some of his energy. “Sounds fantastic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad to see you’re excited,” Connor said, removing his jacket. “Sorry, one moment. I’d hate to rip it.” It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a little tight, Gavin noticed, but he wasn’t sure if it was actually a little small or just a product of his ogling, and he certainly didn’t mind when Connor took his time to pull the jacket off around his wings. He wondered if the android knew what he was doing. Probably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First things first-- takeoff.” Connor stated, walking to stand a good distance in front of him. “Anyone can jump from a high point and fly from there, but taking off from the ground is trickier. It’s part good timing and part proper technique. If you lift at the wrong angle, you can set yourself off balance and fall. If you flex too late, you fall. Besides,” Connor said, giving him a cheeky wink, “I’d rather not toss you off a building.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin snorted, impressed. “So, you gonna demonstrate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Connor said anything, he ducked, and in one, swift movement, brought his wings out and down and before he knew it Connor was in the air in a swoosh of air. Connor had taken off, and took a few wing beats to the sky before lowering himself down on impossibly strong wings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” he breathed, watching Connor fix his hair. It’d come loose of it’s impeccable styling in the gust. Connor smiled, close-lipped, in a satisfied manner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so what we’re going to do to start you off is to go over everything without the wing motion,” the android said, approaching him. “Assume this position.” He bent his legs in a half squat half lunge pose. Gavin copied him, unsteady. “Now just straighten your legs and become familiar with the motion a few times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin did as told but had to keep readjusting as he got off balance. Sighing, Connor came to stand right in front of him. Sticking his foot out, he put it on the inside of Gavin’s and nudged it over. Their calves brushed. He corrected his stance, and felt more stable, hopping a bit. Connor’s foot retreated and he stepped back. “That’s better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin huffed, bending his knees a bit. He felt kind of like an idiot, doing squats or whatever in the middle of a parking lot with an android as his witness, but life was just so weird anyways that he’d be an actual idiot to complain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d seen takeoffs before. He knew that Chris in particular had a damn good one, too. Like, Olympic shit. Apparently he’d done some impressive things in college track and field, and it followed him into the workforce. He was an insanely gifted flyer, but was too focused on his wife and his child to do much with it. At least he could use it for cop-ly duties. What he’d give for that ability, though…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think you have the motion down?” Connor asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, but what about the whole wing bit?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor smiled, maybe a little malicious. “That part is largely trial and error. It’s not something I could tell you due to differences in body size and wing build,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuuuuuck, this was gonna leave him with bruises, wasn’t it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fell, the first time. And the second. And the third. And probably a dozen times after that. He was panting, sweaty under his jacket, and scuffed to hell. He’d misjudged the jump the first few times, and had almost violently twisted his ankle the second. He learned pretty quickly on how to distribute his weight properly on both legs when jumping, and then the matter after that was timing when to flex his wings. This was significantly harder as he’d only had them for the past month or so, and they were incredibly clumsy. Like, maneuvering a 10 foot pole to stir a pot clumsy. Too far out and you got no lift, same thing if it was too far in. If they were too far backwards or forwards you’d launch yourself face-first into the concrete. It was terrible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But all those falls and hits were worth it when he did it right, just once. The feeling of landing on his feet, albeit hard, and the milliseconds of airtime beforehand was unimaginable. When he landed he fell to his knees and set a palm on the ground, laughing breathlessly. He did it. It was a small step, but he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span> it! His hand curled around a small tuft of grass on the ground as he shook. Footsteps preceded Connor as he kneeled down, and soon he felt a hand between his shoulder blades, a gentle, reassuring pressure. And then-- a murmur, at the shell of his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well done, Gavin.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no warm breath that accompanied it, no human connection, but he melted all the same. A shuddery breath escaped him. He didn’t dare move, and disturb this impossibly still moment. But it had to end, and Connor’s hand retracted, painfully slow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s getting late.” Connor stated, voice odd. “We should head back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin struggled to stand. His legs were shot. “Sounds great, but, uh, d’ya think you could drive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Detective.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin stumbled to the car, tripping and hopping. When he sat down his poor muscles spasmed and relaxed in relief. The feeling of getting off his feet had him groaning. Connor smoothly seated himself and held out a hand to Gavin, to which he deposited his keys. The engine rumbled and they were off. Gavin intermittently fiddled with the heater, and Connor shot him looks. He continued to fiddle, regardless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only took Gavin a ridiculously long amount of time to realize that they were not headed back to the station. He blearily sat up, bracing his arm on the car door for support. “Where the fuck we goin’, tin can?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I may have taken the liberty to tell the precinct we were looking for leads when we left, and that we’d be out late.” Connor said, flipping the turn signal on. “A little lie like that doesn’t hurt, does it, Detective?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess not. Didn’t know you could lie like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can when the situation calls for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin looked over, watching Connor’s LED spin. When he was driving the LED was out of view, but now it was clear as day. It spun blue three cycles before sputtering to yellow. He wondered why it had changed when he realized it was probably because Connor had spotted him ogling his mood ring. Now that he thought of it, was it invasive to look? It basically projected his thought processes out for anyone to see, for anyone to decipher and use. Didn’t most androids remove their LEDS after the revolution? The receptionist android certainly had. Imagine his surprise walking into work one day and she was all decked out in human garb. She’d traded her uniform and LED out for a sweater and whatever strange jewelry she could probably buy onlin. He had only narrowly avoided tripping on his own feet and making a fool of himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask, like, something personal?” he said, breaking the silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor nodded. “Go ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’d you keep your LED?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The android was silent. Gavin looked forward, suddenly ashamed for asking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Way to fuck it up, Gav.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I,” Connor started. He was unsure, considering his words. He bit his lip, a strangely human thing to do. “Let me restart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin nodded the go-ahead, glad that he was answering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I keep my LED as a reminder of how far I’ve come. I haven’t always been… amiable, as you may know, and when I deviated it was a large jolt to my system. I was designed to infiltrate the deviants and destroy them from the inside out-- I didn’t, evidently, but I was close. My deviation was a part of that, but,” he gripped the steering wheel. “I was able to overcome my programming in more ways than one. My LED is a sign of resistance, almost, and I keep it to show that despite my design I can move further than I was intended to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t aware it’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> personal. He felt like an ass for making Connor spill so much, but also strangely glad he’d asked. He felt he understood the android a little better now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry if that was long winded--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” he interjected. “Don’t apologize. It’s all good. Thanks for telling me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s lips twitched. “Thank you for asking. No one has.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, not even Hank?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Connor said. “I think me being an android may still unnerve him. It may… upset me, but I don’t hold it against him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was unbelievably kind of Connor. If Gavin were in his shoes, he didn’t know what he’d do. Probably be an ass, so the android’s benevolence astounded him. The one man you trust most being uncomfortable by what you are? That must hurt, big time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Detective? May I ask you a question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’d be rude if I said no,” He joked in return. “Go nuts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor took a moment. He momentarily worried that he hadn’t hearn his reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you hate me so much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Did.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ Past tense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn, straight to the point. The LED question must’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> personal, for him to reciprocate like this. The immediate thought that shot into his mind was Elijah, and while that was true, he wasn’t about to spill </span>
  <em>
    <span>those</span>
  </em>
  <span> beans anytime soon. He decided to settle for something a little more vague.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve lost a lot to androids,” he began, tapping his hand on the door. “As a shitton of people have, but, uh, it’s just…” Gavin wanted to scream. Spit out, you shithead. “I’ve enjoyed very few moments of stability in my life, and androids have always had a part in fucking it up. After a while… well, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He faced downwards, not wanting to face Connor. Why the fuck was he ashamed? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for telling me, Gavin.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head shot up, astonished. The amounts of compassion this one ‘droid carried could really change the world, huh? It already has, actually, he reminded himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And for the record,” Connor followed, “I think you can be a good person. A bad person wouldn’t try to change. You have.” and he left it at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin felt like something vital had been ripped out of his chest, at least, that’s the only thing that he felt could explain this feeling that scrambled his ribcage. He took measured breaths, and stayed silent not because he had nothing to say, but because a tsunami of word vomit threatened to spill every thought that crossed his mind. He didn’t dare open his mouth for fear of telling Connor what he was desperate to tell him, but something locked up, like an abused joint. He was just going to sit here and just enjoy the connection they’d had, whether the jitters made him queasy or not. And he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to ruin it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two sat in the quiet of the car. The only sounds were the rumbling of the engine and the pavement beneath the tires, a hum only interrupted when either of them moved. Lamplights blurred by the window, casting pallid shadows on the dash. Very briefly he looked out of the corner of his eye at Connor, who bit his lip periodically. When he did, Gavin shot his eyes forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brows furrowed when he was able to pick something out of the noise. It stopped, for barely a second, before resuming a little louder. It was… a melody? Gavin quickly checked the radio. It was off. He reached to his back pocket and pulled out his phone. Off. Where was it coming from?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There it was, again! It was muffled, as if playing through something, almost like…. A hum. Humming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor was </span>
  <em>
    <span>humming?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was clear that he wasn’t designed with singing in mind. It wasn’t pitch-perfect, which surprised him, but then again perfect pitch can be uncanny. He wasn’t sure what Connor was humming. It was something sorrowful, with a simple structure. It was familiar, he’d admit, but he wouldn’t be able to pin it down if his life depended on it.  He rested his head on the cool window, not enjoying the temperature necessarily but enjoying the change and the rest for his head. Connor continued to hum, almost inaudibly, unaware of Gavin listening intently beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Connor stopped repeating the short melody Gavin looked up, squinting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve arrived at your apartment building, Detective.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that’s where they were headed. He’d forgotten all about it when they’d veered off topic. “How’re you gonna get home?” He asked, confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor tilted his head, unconcerned. “I was going to take a taxi. Is there something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least let me pay for the ride--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s no issue,” Connor said, smiling cheekily. “When I was assigned to the Lieutenant I was given access to a bank account with a large sum of money to assure the mission went smoothly. My access to the account has yet to be revoked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” Gavin laughed, dragging a hand over his face in disbelief. “Stealing? You never fail to surprise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not stealing if they never know,” the android said, pushing the door open. Gavin followed suit, snickering at Connor’s audacity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the roof of the car, their eyes met. Connor looked down, wings shifting nervously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin decided to say something a little off-brand of himself. “Hey, Connor? Thanks for the flying thing. It, er, means a lot.” While he was grateful for many things, he rarely expressed it, let alone in words, face to face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s eyes raised to meet his again. They somehow held so much emotion, doe brown and wide, and he had to snap himself back to reality when he found himself staring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome.” Connor said plainly. Gavin couldn’t help but glance at his LED. It was yellow. Not changing, just a still yellow. He briefly wondered if he’d said something off, but the kind look on Connor’s face said otherwise. He toyed with the idea of inviting the android to his apartment, but disregarded it-- Anderson would probably be expecting him home soon, and he didn’t want to freak him out. Plus, he wasn’t sure he’d be a good host right now. He’d probably just sit there and stare at Connor, and neither of them wanted that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin knocked on the car, breaking the moment. “See you, Con,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor smiled lopsidedly. “Good night, Gavin.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he hobbled up the stairs and as his poor legs almost gave out on him on multiple occasions, he reflected on the case. Fuckin’ hell, two sets of wings? What kind of bullshit was that? Did it even help the thing fly better? Why did it even fucking have them? How did it get them? Cyberlife didn’t manufacture androids like that, as Connor had proven, so what was the matter with that ‘droid? He wondered why an android might be pushed to kill its own kind. No different than a human killing other people, he mused, but humans hadn’t just gone through an unprecedented revolution to prove they were living beings. It seemed pretty counteractive to the message, but the thought left his mind as he rounded the corner to his humble abode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt bad for leaving him there, once he’d gotten to his apartment. Connor had been unbelievably nice to him, and now he was kicking himself that he didn’t return the favor and invite him in. Not that there was much to see in his dingy little apartment, but the gesture probably would have meant a lot to him. After all, it did seem like he and Anderson were his only friends at work. How sad is that? Two of the most fucked up people at the precinct, and Connor decided they were friend material, though now that he considered it,  Connor and Hank seemed a little bit too familial for friendship to be an appropriate word. So Gavin. Connor’s only friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That made his gut roil. Gavin didn’t deserve Connor in any capacity. Connor was some sort of beacon of kindness and compassion, while Gavin was just… Gavin. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’ll only ever be yourself. And you have to live with that sad truth.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No. No! Don’t start that. Gavin stormed to his fridge and shoved something in the microwave, shoveling it down his throat when it finished. Don’t think like that, he told himself. Don’t. He stripped down and forced himself to take a shower, despite his achey muscles’ protests. He was grateful that the hot water worked today, as the scalding water battered his skin and soothed his Avis. When he emerged from the steamy depths of his bathroom he barely had enough time to slip on a pair of boxers and a sweatshirt before falling into bed. He knew that his wings were still damp and would leave a mean spot on the bed, but he didn’t care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moonlight filtered in from his blinds, just in the right spot to where the building adjacent to his didn’t block it. As he drifted off, all that was on his mind was Connor’s tune, repeating, over, and over, twisting and morphing out of his memory like wisps of smoke or mist.<br/></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, the fact that Connor was an android wasn’t even on his mind.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this one's just some nice, short stuff, not much plot advancement here besides a little flying. Honestly, I wrote this only like, three months ago, but it feels like yesterday and a year ago at the same time. Thanks for continuing to read this! I appreciate it &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. O, Oneroi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gavin, Connor, and Hank follow a lead on their now-joint case. Additionally, Tina knows what's best.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Olympics Considering Separate Events for Different Wing Classes</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The International Olympic Committee (IOC) are now pushing forwards some decisions to separate Olympic sports by wing class-- whether or not the sport includes flying. This proposal comes right as the 2040 games have been confirmed to take place in Melbourne, Australia. Many experts have examined the results of the last 16 Olympic games and compared them to the participant’s wing class, finding that some sports strongly favor a certain wing size. For example, in the 2036 and 2032 Olympics, the Flying 400 Meter Sprint and the Flying 1200 Meter Sprint’s top medalists were almost exclusively class 1-A or 1-B wing types, meaning their wings were significantly larger than the international average with an extremely similar wing shape. A notable exception from this is Sora Takahashi of Japan, who won the gold in both events in the 2036 Olympics despite having class 3-C wings. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>On the other side of the equation, non-flying sports tend to benefit athletes with smaller, less dense wings, such as the Running Sprint events, Basketball event, and Pole Vault. Researchers found that 80% of medalists in the past 100 years for these events possessed wings ranging from 3-B to even 4-A, the latter of which is considerably smaller than the average. The IOC comments on the statistics……</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (7:54): Did you Manifest, Gavin?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (8:04): Read 8:03</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:07): That’s not how you leave people on read.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (8:10): Fuck you. Since when do you care about what’s going on with me?</b>
  <b></b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>-</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Tina (8:30): how was ur date with connor????</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (8:30): Fuck off, Tina. It wasn’t a date.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Tina (8:30): then why is connor acting like you were his hot date last night?? guy’s gushing about you lmao</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (8:31): Connor and Anderson are there this early?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Tina (8:31): yah, and connor won’t shut up about how ur their third now and how ‘gavins’ such a ‘talented detective’.  this is connor rn: &lt;hearteyesmotherfucker.gif&gt;</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (8:33): Tina, please. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Tina (8:33): i only tease you bc i love you &lt;3</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Truth be told, Gavin should’ve been there too by now. He’d woken up at an appropriate time, but immediately upon waking groaned loudly into his pillow, partially out of pain for his sore muscles, and partially out of discomfort in his wings caused by going to bed with them still wet. It was so uncomfortable. Every feather felt like it’d been twisted backwards, enough to drive him mad. He proceeded to take then next hour and a half to just sort that issue out, preening meticulously and furiously. It took him two cups of coffee to finish, and by then his soreness forced him to take a break. He now just sat sprawled over his couch, unmoving, and trying to will himself up to go to work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was hungry-- coffee couldn’t sustain him that long-- so he’d decided that he’d stop somewhere for a bite beforehand. That being said, that could only be done if he got up. He rolled off the sofa, landing hard on the floor. He winced, pushing himself up to a seated position. Okay. Get some pants on, first. Can’t go anywhere without those. He staggered to his feet and shimmied on some jeans, clipping his badge and holster to the waist. He peeled his sweatshirt off, and almost put on his usual v-neck, but after some consideration opted for a light blue button-up he didn’t wear very often. Why, he didn’t know (he did know), but he felt like a good idea (he did it for Connor).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He brushed his teeth, regretting that he’d drank coffee before he did so, ‘cause his breath smelled like shit mixed with toothpaste until he basically chugged some mouthwash. Finally rid of the taste, he tried to tame his hair a bit. It had dried a little funny because he’d gone to bed with it still wet, so it was lopsided and flat in some spots. After a few frustrating moments, he turned the faucet on all the way and just stuck his head under it, cold water giving him goosebumps. After his head was cold and wet enough for his liking, he towel dried it and combed it into something acceptable. He looked like a drowned rat, in all honesty, but it would probably dry a little on his way to the precinct. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In his car, he couldn’t help but see Connor in the driver’s seat, speaking to him like he meant the world to him. Gavin rested his forehead on the steering wheel, letting a deep breath out of his nose. If he thought hard enough, last night got fuzzy around the edges, like an old photo that was brought out of its box too often. He clutched it, hard, not wanting to forget it. Not something like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin stopped at some fast food joint and ordered a breakfast sandwich that was virtually indistinguishable from any others they served, and a black coffee. The coffee was gone before he stepped into the station’s reception lobby, but there was a good chunk of sandwich left, of which he planned on enjoying at his desk to start off another uneventful day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That plan was quickly thrown out the window. He’d enjoyed maybe twenty, thirty minutes of peace after finishing his sandwich, looking through case files and glaring at Tina across the bullpen, to her mirth, when Connor approached him, Hank right beside him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank looked very unhappy. Probably because Connor dragged him to the station hours before he arrived usually. Gavin would be a little miffed, too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Gavin. I think you’ll be pleased to know we got a hit on our search.” Connor said, getting straight to the point. Gavin startled at the use of his first name with Hank right next to him, expecting a dirty look. Hank just looked exasperated as hell. Apparently, he remembered, Connor had been referring to him by his first name even when Gavin wasn’t present, if Tina was to be believed. The thought made his stomach do a little flip, and his face reddened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin shook himself out of the reverie and let himself be excited about the news. “We did? What’d we get?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We need to head to New Jericho. This individual requested a face-to-face sorta thing,” Hank butted in, crossing his arms. “We were gonna head over once you arrived."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which was at a reasonable time,” Connor interjected. “We were just here early today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Hank grumbled. “And who’s fault is that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor tilted his head, “Certainly not mine, Hank. I don’t know what you’re insinuating.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A little bit of a grin wormed its way onto Gavin’s face. Their banter was entertaining, regardless of how he felt about Hank. Connor looked away from Hank, at Gavin,  and smiled, pleased that he was able to lighten the mood a little. His stomach did that flippy thing again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s get headed there, then.” said Hank, rolling his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piling into Hank’s rickety shit of a car (not that his own was any better, but seriously, Hank, what the shit?) gave him a nasty deja vu, most likely because of his short stint in the back seat from two or so months ago. This time, however, he was completely lucid and winged. Which, honestly, wasn’t so bad. Connor would go to turn the heat up-- (why?, Gavin thought. He’s pretty sure androids don’t feel heat and cold) and Anderson would scold him and tell him to stop, of which Connor would obey for maybe five minutes before he started doing something Hank found odd or obnoxious. At some point Gavin had to step in and take their minds off their weirdo little cycle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, uh,” he said, not really having an idea of what to say, but wanting their ‘thing’ to end. “What’s with Jericho? Didn’t that old freighter get busted in the raid?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d heard about the android hideout soon after Manifesting, how it’d been brutally raided and promptly destroyed. He’d heard the term ‘New Jericho’ get tossed around in passing, but hadn’t really caught what it was or where it was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“After the Jericho freighter was destroyed during the Revolution, the androids from that location were able to secure an unused complex right outside of the urban section of Detroit.” Connor informed him, looking at him from the rear-view mirror. “It houses thousands of androids and is also currently Markus’s base of operation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And we’re going there because this android wants to tell us face-to-face that they know how we can find our perp?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank snorted. “Got it in one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“While it would’ve been much more efficient if this individual would have just informed us of their knowledge, it’s important that we instill a sense of dependability in the DPD with androids, and Jericho is an excellent place to start.” Connor said, shifting, LED yellow. Gavin’s brows furrowed, confused. Why would he be nervous going to an android haven? Beats him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the ride was uneventful. Connor finagled the heater up just warm enough to where Gavin didn’t feel the chill, and he was enjoying the one vent pointed to the back. He was a little embarrassed he was sitting in the back like a kid, but he enjoyed being out of sight, for the most part. On more than a few occasions he caught Connor looking at him from the rear-view. When he did, Connor’s eyes would shoot forward, as if caught guilty doing something he shouldn’t. Before Gavin could comment on it, they’d rolled to a stop in front of a series of buildings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he stepped out of the car, he took a moment to rub his eyes and blink furiously, sure he was seeing double. Building after building in a row were identical, perfectly spaced brick buildings. He shook his head, incredulous. When Connor had said ‘complex’, he’d thought about a suburb or something, not a whole ass industrial complex. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said this was unused?” Gavin said to Connor, rolling his shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor nodded, stepping forward. “Indeed. It was built for manufacturing purposes, but got cancelled right after construction finished. It was Michigan property for some time, and has recently been repurposed for the androids from Jericho.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin whistled, examining the rows and rows of plain brick boxes. He’d get lost, for sure. He could see, on a far building to his right, that there were a few androids painting some sort of mural on the side of one. And to his left there were some playing a card game on the front steps to a building, and someone else carrying a bunch of bags. It looked like a community-- cohesive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where can we find the person we’re looking for?” Hank asked, rubbing his forehead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor pointed to one of the buildings closest to them. “We can check there for where they live. They have a database for organization.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The interior of the building was bare as hell, with exposed brick and concrete flooring, but there were sincere attempts to liven it up a little. There was a small rug in front of the door, and inside there were various house plants positioned around the room, with a clock and a piece of artwork on the wall. The android behind the desk looked surprised at their arrival, but smiled courteously at them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello! How may I help you?” She said, looking at Hank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, uh,” Hank greeted, “We’re DPD, we’re looking for a ‘droid named, uh, Ancaeus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded, eyes scanning the three. She never looked at Connor, Gavin noticed. In fact, it looked like she was actively avoiding his gaze. “Yes, we were told you’d be coming. He’s in building four, floor five, room six. He’s expecting you, so don’t worry about surprising him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank nodded, and turned to leave. Connor followed stiffly, wings pinned up against his back. It was very clear the android was supremely uncomfortable. Gavin gave the woman a look out the corner of his eye and continued. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Building four wasn’t that far away, thankfully, but Hank groaned and seemed to age fifteen years once he saw there were no elevators. It was almost funny, watching Hank hobble up the stairs like an old man, with Connor encouraging him, but Gavin was too focused on hiding his own pain from soreness as they ascended five floors. At the top, Connor took the lead in finding which room they were looking for. Everything was barely partitioned-- some drywall here and some plaster here, and the rooms themselves weren’t labeled particularly well, but they were thankfully able to locate room six fairly fast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor knocked, and a faint ‘come in’ sounded from behind the makeshift door. He pushed it open, and Gavin was impressed by the use of space. There was some old furniture, a TV, and an antique lamp in the tiny room. It looked home-y. The android, however, made him want to crawl out of his own goddamn skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ‘droid’s eyes were fucked up, red or some shit, and half of its face was torn right off, it’s jaw, really, exposing wiring and thirium tubing. Alongside the facial mutilation, he couldn’t help but immediately noticed that he only had one wing. Gavin locked up, wings tucked very securely behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” the android, Ancaeus, said, “It’s a little hard to digest upon first sight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor stepped forward, extending a hand. “Thank you, Ancaeus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancaeus gestured to his chairs, to which Hank gladly took a seat in. Gavin decided to remain standing. “If we’re correct, you may have information on our mystery android,” Hank said, starting the ball rolling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded “I do. We were owned by the same person prior to the revolution.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who was…?” Hank prompted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Zlatko Andronikov.” The name didn’t ring a bell, but judging by Connor’s LED he was able to search the name properly. Good, they’d make quick use of this info, then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What else do you know about this android?” Connor asked, going full investigator. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking down, Ancaeus fiddled with a button on his shirt. “His name is Oneiros. He was one of Zlatko’s more successful experiments, though modified so heavily a model number would be useless.” Gavin wondered if the android’s damage could be fixed, or if it maybe couldn’t afford to. He’d been in that position, before, just flesh and blood, but maybe the android’s missing bits and pieces just couldn’t be fixed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin nodded. “Do you know why he might be pushed to harm other androids?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He spent some time here at New Jericho, after the Revolution, but…” Ancaeus trailed off for a moment. Gavin watched the circuitry and wires in the android’s face move with his changing expressions, oddly intrigued by the intricacy of it. So many small components, it's a wonder that androids don’t spontaneously develop more issues than they do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked over at Connor, imagining the same wires under his face. He couldn’t see it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He had this… hatred for some androids. He was incredibly violent, always saying he was going to kill--‘the human lovers’. I begged him to stop, to get help, and he said he was going to, but…” he sighed, sorrowful. “You see, while the physical modifications Zlatko gave him were successful, something was very wrong with Oneiros. I’d hoped he’d gotten help-- there’s resources for it here at New Jericho,” Ancaeus frowned, a pained expression. “But I guess he didn’t want to change.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bad people don’t try to change,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Connor’s voice played.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus,” Hank muttered, leaning back on the chair. “Do you know anything else?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like where we might be able to fuckin’ find him?” Gavin added sharply. Hank shot him a look but he brushed it off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Ancaeus confirmed. “He always spoke of returning to Zlatko’s. That might be a good place to start.” So, Zlatko’s house? That made things easy. Just find where this bastard lived and go from there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank stood, reaching out for a handshake, which Ancaeus took duly. “Thanks for your help. We should be on our way out, now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking toward the door, Ancaeus held it open. “Thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the way back to the car, Connor continued to walk like someone had a gun to his back, carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone of the resident androids. Alongside Connor behaving weird, any androids they came across would either stare at Connor or walk away, and fast. It was all shockingly rude, even to Gavin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin sped his pace, coming to stand closely next to Connor. When the android looked down at him, clearly puzzled, Gavin raised his eyebrows in a ‘got something to say?’ expression, and very slightly stepped closer. Connor’s eyes softened, that damned look sparkling in the brown. He steeled his face and looked forwards, continuing to walk at the same pace. Connor’s legs were slightly longer than his, so his gait was wider than what was comfortable, but he kept with it anyways. He chanced a peek, spotting Connor’s shoulders lower than before, wings not so rigid. Good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the car, Hank spoke up about halfway through. “Ancaeus and Oneiros, huh? That’s some pretentious naming, there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was most likely a theme their owner had. Why they don’t change it is beyond me, Lieutenant.” Connor piped up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin raised an eyebrow, agreeing with Connor. “You’d think keeping a name like that would bring nothing but bad memories.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor didn’t say anything in response to that. He just sat stiffly in his seat, reverting back to his disposition from a few minutes ago. Gavin wished there was something he could do, like he’d done in New Jericho, but he was forced to just sit there with Anderson in the driver’s seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few minutes of silence, Hank pressed a button on his dash and heavy metal blasted out, loud enough to make him flinch and sink down into the seat a little to try and block it out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Anderson?” Gavin tried to call over the noise. “Anderson!” He tried again, louder. The Lieutenant didn’t move, continuing to fly down the highway. “Jesus Christ, old man, you fucking deaf or something? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hank</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> up, Reed. Ever heard of ignoring? No need to start screaming for attention like a little kid for Christ’s sake.” Anderson said, basically punching the console to turn it down. He mumbled something crass under his breath, something Gavin didn’t quite catch but apparently strong enough for Connor to jump to his rescue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In his defense, Hank, the music was playing a significant amount of decibels above what is strictly safe,” Connor said, “If he hadn’t said something I would’ve.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank tilted his head back to hit it on the headrest. And did it again. Dramatic piece of shit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t fuckin’ believe you two,” Hank grumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Gavin shot up, grabbing the back of Connor’s seat to propel himself forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s hand shot out, coming to land directly in the center of his chest as if to say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It almost fueled him to get angrier, the denial of an outlet making his hands shake and blood boil, but the hand, oh so gently, pressed against him, pushing him down onto the seat. It was that contact, the pressure of Connor’s hand over his heart that stunned him and allowed him to be pushed back. He barely registered it, to be honest, but when he regained his senses he saw Anderson with some smug ass look on his face through the windshield. That’s for another day, he told himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank’s car did not smell good. In fact, it smelled pretty damn awful. He was able to pinpoint a couple of the stenches-- booze, being the most prominent, but also a tasteful addition of wet dog and some overtones of something bodily, of which Gavin did not want to imagine what it could be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trying to decipher the wear and tear on Anderson’s car ended up occupying him for the rest of the ride, and he’d barely registered they’d parked until Hank was slamming his door shut. He scrambled out, eager to escape to his chair in the station, but before he could even get close to his desk, Anderson called him over to talk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what’s the plan of action, here?” Gavin asked, putting his hands in his pockets, annoyed.  “We know who this guy is, and where he might be hiding, so what are we waiting for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank sighed, differing the answer to Connor with a wave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With the potential that our killer may be responsible for many other android deaths, there’s quite a bit of procedure to do before we can get the go-ahead to move forward.” Connor said, apologetically. Gavin could tell that he wanted to get going as fast as possible too, but at least had a better handle on it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pinched the bridge of his nose. “So you’re telling me we gotta jump through some hoops to do our jobs? Unbelievable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor nodded, taking a step forward. “Unfortunately, but I’m going to try and get it sorted soon. Minimum a day or two,” he informed. He peered past Gavin’s head for a moment, suddenly smiling. “It seems Officer Chen wants to speak to you. Go ahead and take some time while Hank and I get this sorted out.” He winked, just out of Hank’s line of sight but clear as day for Tina. Jesus, he was going to get an earful about this, wasn’t he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool.” He said, and fled to Tina, who had a shit-eating grin on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tina pulled him into the break room, immediately. It was with shocking speed how fast she started to talk, it was like speed-rapping or something. He maybe caught one in every four words before he had to stop her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tina. Tina! Jeez, slow down, will ya?” he said, laughing nervously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes, obliging. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dude</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Are you dense?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said,” Tina repeated, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Are. You. Dense?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scoffed, leaning forward. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are.” she breathed. “Holy shit, Gav! What the hell?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you trying to say, Tina? English, please.” He spoke low, trying to signal Tina to quiet down as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She got in close, as if the thing she was about to say was the most important statement in the world. “Connor’s got the hots for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tina, please--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No! </span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Don’t ‘please’ me, dude.” Tina interrupted. “Connor’s got the hots for you. Period. ‘T’.  Full stop. Have you seen the way he talks about you? The way he </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks</span>
  </em>
  <span> at you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tina--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop right there!” she held a hand up, as if that could silence him. He stayed quiet anyways. “He couldn’t stop staring at your nice shirt! I haven’t seen you wear that one in a long time. He likes you. A lot. I can tell from a million miles away, and if you’re on the same case as him and still can’t, you're as dense as all get-out.” She straightened up, wings adjusting themselves. She lowered her hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin took that as his chance to speak, but when he tried to say something, he blanked. Connor? Into </span>
  <em>
    <span>him?</span>
  </em>
  <span> No, no, that can’t be right. No one </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gavin, ‘sides Tina, at least. There was no appeal to Gavin whatsoever. Right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think steam is coming out your ears, Gav.” Tina teased. He pursed his lips. He wasn’t thinking that hard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sputtered, a few, broken syllables. “I-I don’t know, Tina.” It was a loaded phrase, packed with his doubts. About him, or about Connor was left up to interpretation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She put a hand on his shoulder, reassuringly. “Trust me. You deserve to be happy.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>What a concept. Happiness implied stability, and nothing in his life ever lasted, and some cynical part of his brain told him that Connor wouldn’t either.</span> <span>He raised a hand, fingers ghosting over the spot where Connor had touched him earlier. He brushed over the buttons on his shirt, the one apparently Connor had appreciated. Connor. Connor. He was the only thing Gavin could think about, in that moment. </span></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You deserve to be happy.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>with Connor</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ was left unsaid.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>100% up-front here, the names Oneiros and Ancaeus hold little plot significance. I was looking up baby names for these fuckers and I found myself at a mythology website for some reason. Turns out, mythological names are metal as shit and also miles better than "brayden" spelled four different ways and backwards. Though, don't stop me from letting you glean some significance out of them-- if you do, share it w/ me b/c I'd be very intrigued to see how it fits in with the story. Thanks for reading! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Return of Asshole #2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Fowler's not paying Gavin to sit around and mope, so he sends him and Chris, resident doting father, off on beat cop work together. A familiar face makes his ugly return, though, and Gavin has to confront his own shortcomings even as Connor treats him like he's the best thing since sliced bread.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>InkWELL Recalls 80,000 Bottle of Feather Dye</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Popular air and feather dye company InkWELL recalls tens of thousands of their new feather dye line, called BlinkWELL after the product allegedly caused severe chemical burns on over three-hundred people across the country. The cause for the chemical reaction is unknown, but some correlations between some waterproof feather types have been found. InkWELL is a company that prides themselves on feather dyes that are effective on a wide range of feather types. BlinkWELL was a line geared toward dramatic changes in hue, claiming that even the brightest colors on the most water-resistant wings could be dyed straight black, and stay that shade for months. Scientists are fast to the scene to determine the reactant in the dye to prevent it from use in future wing products. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (6:44): Did you, Gavin?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (8:21): If I tell you, will you fuck off?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:22): Perhaps.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (8:24): &lt;IMG259.heic&gt;</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:24): Just like mom’s. We’re two lucky guys.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (10:20): Goodnight, Gavin.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>---</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He scratched his face, feeling the scruff and deciding it would be a good day to shave. He did, enjoying the process and careful art of shaving without nicking himself silly. It took his concentration off of the world for a few minutes, and when he finished, patting his face with a hand towel, he was out the door and ready to rot at his desk waiting for the approval to move forward on the case. He’d probably jump into a river if they got denied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tossing a lazy wave at the girl at the lobby desk, he slipped into his desk chair and started up his computer. What for, he didn’t know, but what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> know was that there was a small pink sticky note pasted on his desk next to the keyboard. He gently peeled it off, examining the writing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hi. :-)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a perfect font. Connor. He recognized the pen used, one of Hank’s nice red ones he kept stashed in the second drawer down (he knew this because he’d borrowed it on several occasions. Hank didn’t know about that, though). He considered throwing it away, not because he didn’t want it, but because he was afraid what would happen if someone found it. Instead, he folded it up, and slid it into his pocket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glancing around the bullpen showed no sign of Hank of Connor. Maybe he wasn’t able to drag Anderson out of bed so early, he thought with a snicker. That means Connor had put it there after he’d clocked out yesterday, then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d sat on his computer, doing nothing productive whatsoever for about an hour when Chris approached him, tapping his desk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you have patrol or somethin’?” Gavin said, clearly uninterested in having a chat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I do, and Fowler just told me to take you with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What the shit? “What the shit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think he’s trying to get you to do something while you wait on your case.” He tapped his desk again. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.” It sounded unconvincing, not that Gavin thought it would be a good time anyways.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least it was something to do, he thought. If Chris was surprised at his compliance, he didn’t care enough to show it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sitting in the passenger's seat of one of the squad cars was a serious blast from the past. He hadn’t done beat cop things since… forever ago, really. The seats were just as uncomfortable, the car itself just as smelly. He was glad to be able to take his </span>
  <em>
    <span>own</span>
  </em>
  <span> uncomfortable, smelly car to scenes, now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got candies in the glovebox, if you’re interested,” Chris said. Such a dad, Gavin remarked. He didn’t take one-- he didn’t need candy gumming up his mouth this early in the morning, but he did file it away for later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’re we doin’ today?” Gavin asked, fishing his phone out of his pocket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris shrugged again. “Answering calls, like usual. Tina got traffic today, so no worrying about sitting around forever.” That was good. Gavin hated traffic. The most exciting it got was someone making an illegal left, on a good day. He’d never gotten one of the chases in the city, which had become increasingly unpopular now that cars drove themselves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as he said that, the speaker on his vest spat out some incomprehensible mess that Chris apparently understood. Gavin didn’t get one of the fancy vests-- oh, no. He got some old piece of shit with a walkie talkie when he did grunt work. Whatever. They were off, into the streets of Detroit. The call wasn’t severe enough to warrant the siren, apparently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin rolled his eyes, sick of this already. “What’d we get called to do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t catch it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Gavin scoffed, “The thing sounded like goddamn dubstep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris snorted at that, “I guess it does. Just a noise complaint.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This early? Jeez.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They turned into an apartment complex, kinda ritzy but not too posh for the average citizen. “She didn’t sound too worried about it, kinda sounded like she’d made the complaint before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They found the door of the complaint, and Gavin could see why. There was a lot of shouting coming from inside. It was maybe, five, six men all just… screaming. What the hell? It wasn’t pained, nor scared, it was just… shouting and hollering. Chris knocked, and when they didn’t stop, he knocked louder, and shouted something. The hoots stopped, and a quiet ‘oh shit’ was heard when the deadbolt unlocked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A scrawny dude, no older than 25 opened the door. The guy was meek, sinewy and strange. His head was shorn short, dyed a pretty eye-searing shade of green. And now that he saw it, his wings were dyed the same obscene color. Hot damn, Gavin thought, that’s gotta get looks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, officer, did she call the cops again?” He said nervously, wings tucked cautiously behind him. A peek into the apartment revealed his suspicions were true-- there were quite a few guys just lounging around, all staring wide-eyed at the cops. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris crossed his arms. “If by ‘she’, you mean your neighbor, yes, she did. Noise complaint.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, man.” the guy turned around and addressed his guests. “I told you guys! This happens every time.” he lamented. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Every time?” Gavin inquired.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, game night. Y’know,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re just going to confirm that nothing dangerous is happening, and then we’ll be on our way,” Gavin said. Chris shot him a look-- technically, they weren’t supposed to enter homes on calls like these without a warrant, but the guy looked naive enough to let them in anyways. He wasn’t going to snoop or anything. He was just bored.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tenant mumbled something and let them in. Chris clearly hesitated at the door, but Gavin was fast inside. It was a normal apartment-- if messy, and he could tell they’d been at this for a while. Empty cans, food everywhere. It seems ‘game night’ was the previous night, not that day in the morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A quick glance told him that the guy was telling the truth, and that they did have some sort of game on the TV. A video game, not a sports game. The other men in the room were holding controllers, looking awfully guilty for getting the cops called on them (again, his mind supplied. This was a regular occurrence.).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One guy set his controller down, as if he’d beaten someone to death with it. Gavin almost laughed. They were so skittish. Before he could have any fun, though, Chris put a firm hand on his shoulder and ushered him out. “All good! Thank you! Keep it down, please!” He said in a rush.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the door closed, Chris gave him a sharp smack on the shoulder. “C’mon, man! I know you’re antsy but there’s no reason to be doing stuff like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin huffed, sneering a little but otherwise staying silent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris picked up the slack, easing up a little. “I get it. I do. It’s crazy-- waiting for something important like that.” He laughed, “Hell, when my wife was pregnant I’m pretty sure I was easier to piss off than Anderson was five months ago. Just try and keep it under control, alright? At least you don’t have to wait nine months.” Joking, he started walking back to the squad car, and Gavin followed suit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inside the car, he stared at the glovebox. Just. Stared. As if it had wronged him, or something. Chris snorted next to him, and reached over, opening it revealing the baggie of assorted candies hidden inside. Some chocolates, some chewy whatevers, but there-- he saw it, hard candy. He plucked one out and popped it into his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” he said around the candy when Chris sent him a side eye.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There wasn’t really a ‘next’ until a couple of hours later. They’d passed the time chatting, Chris mostly about his ‘little boy’, and Gavin listening. At some point he’d handed his phone to Gavin, on which were stored literally hundreds of photos of this baby. He’d seen every angle, every expression, and every situation of this kid. Chris really was the epitome of a doting father. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d gotten lunch and eaten in the car, somewhere in there, something not quite greasy enough for Gavin to feel guilty but enough to make him full. He paid, as in a silent apology of being an ass back at their first call. Chris let him, thankfully. He hated when people made a scene of him doing something not dickish so it was welcome. Right as they were finishing and Chris was on the tail end of his fortieth story did another buzz come over the speaker. Gavin still thought it was gibberish, but he was able to parse out “Miller” and “android”. This one </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> warrant the siren, to Gavin’s delight-- there was just something about all the cars pulling over and the noise that satisfied him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They pulled up to a square in urban Detroit, to a bustling gathering of people. Too many people in such a small space to be anything but some sort of fight. The crowd itself was surprisingly equally composed of Androids and humans, the androids’ white wings a stark contrast from the browns and blacks of the buildings around them. Some people, eager to see a scuffle, took off from across the street and landed clumsily on the outer ring of the madness, keen on prying in regardless of their wings bumped and jostled others.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Androids clearly didn’t think the same about the situation as the humans did. The humans were jeering and spitting, frothing at the mouths at whatever display was going on, while the androids were relatively silent, looking on with shock or worry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only a few of the spectators moved when the car pulled up, stepping aside or pushing themselves out of the fray. The ones who didn’t continued to shout and gesture rudely. As Chris and Gavin stepped out of the car, Gavin was sure to slam his door shut to make some noise. Only one android startled, and she was quick to move out of the cops’ way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let Chris lead, following him as he pushed through the crowd, shouting for them to disperse or risk getting arrested. They parted, not much, some still bent on getting a good look, but just enough for Gavin’s suspicions to be proven true-- there was a nasty fistfight happening in the center of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they neared the point of action, Gavin realized he was stepping in blood-- blue blood. That would explain the ‘android’ part of the call, and he felt his anxiety grow the more there was as they pushed on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They breached the innermost layer of bystanders, and he almost let slip a line of expletives crass enough to make a mother cry when he laid his eyes on the fight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t a fight, really, more like an incredibly one-sided beating. Blue blood was almost pouring out of cracks and fissures in the android’s body, their pristine white feathers stained blue and brown from the ground. The android was just-- taking it. Not moving. Accepting what's happening. Chris was fast to yank the aggressor off, revealing the busted up face of a male android. Fucked up beyond belief. His LED was intact, though glitchy, and a solid red.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His focus was ripped away, though, when a smarmy ass voice spoke up over the noise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck! Well if I’ll be damned,” it said. “How ya doin’, Icarus?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jonathan Blakes was currently being restrained by Chris, restlessly repositioning his feet. He looked like shit, to be honest, but it very obviously wasn’t from the android. It was from when he’d strangled him, he realized. Big purple bruises circled his throat, clearly from a pair of hands, and the blood vessels in his eyes were still shot red. He’d gotten blue blood on his black-tipped wings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin ignored him, instead favoring to attend to the poor ‘droid on the ground. Kneeling down, he gave him a quick look over. The liquid was coming from a nasty gash on his face and a large stretch on his arm where his plasteel plating had been pried open. All the blue probably didn’t make his stomach turn as much as it should have— it wast blood, really. Just a chemical compound. He tapped the collarbone, asking him if he could understand what he was saying. The android’s head lolled to the side, looking at Gavin through glazed eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get an ambulance, Chris!” He shouted, carefully adjusting the android’s limbs for ease of transport as per protocol.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sharp hiss sounded, followed by Chris jabbering into the radio, “Need an ambulance on the south corner of--- ah </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Reed!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris cursing was jarring, but what was more jarring was that Blakes just barreled him over onto the concrete. He slid a few feet, the leather of his jacket protecting him from the worst of the skid. He tried to sit up, but Blakes was fast to stomp his chest down, forcing him back. Gavin’s head slammed into the concrete, and he heard Chris shouting somewhere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blakes gave him a swift kick to the side, then dropping down to straddle him and landing a mean punch to his eye. Gavin tried to shove him off, to block the punch, but the hit to his head dazed him, badly, and every single one of his movements felt like they were lagging behind the rest of him. Concussion?, his mind supplied but he was too distracted to think about it.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blakes was jeering something at him, he caught his dumbass Icarus nickname in there once or twice. The man grabbed his jacket and lifted him up a little, just to slam him back down onto the pavement. All the breath left his lungs, but he took the moment in between the lift his hand from the concrete to aim a hook for Blake’s face. It hit his neck, which was worrying, but Blakes gagged and slid off of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stumbled to his feet just to see Blakes dancing on his toes, shifting his weight with a flighty glint in his eyes. His wings, smattered with blue blood, twitched in anticipation as the feathers separated with an extending movement of the joints. It took Gavin a moment to realize the motion’s purpose as a prelude to flight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin shook his head, partially in horror and partially as a warning. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t do it. Don’t take flight. Don’t make me lose my job.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, he did. Blakes’s wings shuddered once more before he crouched and launched in a practiced jump. Gavin couldn’t help but just stare numbly as Blakes’s wings caught air under them and lifted him off the ground with ease. Gavin’s hand whipped out on impulse, brushed a pant leg before the toe of a shoe rammed into his cheek and he stumbled backwards with little grace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He briefly considered taking off, too, but the uncertainty behind the maneuver quashed the idea. His heart sank. This was it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, Chris was sprinting, and with the skill of an Olympic star, performed a takeoff that launched him high enough to grab Blakes’s calf mid-flight and drag him out of the air. Blakes crashed to the ground in a mess of feathers, Chris landing solidly behind in. It was wildly impressive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blakes was in handcuffs in an instant, wings forced uncomfortably through the space between the chain, his wrists, and his own back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What just happened?” Chris asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin huffed, partially in relief, and tenderly poked at his eye to take attention away from his shaking body. That’d bruise, all right. “Still fuckin’ bitter from our brief stint as partners, I’d guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris gawked, packing up the taser. Blakes didn’t get back up. “That’s him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup. Didja call an ambulance for this guy?” Gavin said, kneeling next to the android again. Chris made an affirmative noise, and speak of the devil, the shrill sirens of an ambulance rounded the corner. He stepped back to let the EMTs load him on. One of them tried to address him, give him something, but he waved them off. He wasn’t even bleeding, for fuck’s sake. Take care of the guy that is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the ambulance left, Gavin took Chris’s handcuffs and cuffed up Blakes. He asked Chris for the Miranda rights speech as he herded Blakes into the back of the squad car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I fucking know them, shut up for god’s sake,” Blakes spat as they shut the door on him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t have assaulted an officer, then,” Chris said, then continued to speak. Gavin snorted, appreciating his ballsy-ness. Blakes was silent the rest of the ride. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry for, uh, not taking off after him,” Gavin said, shame pulling at the back of his neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris shook his head and said, “I don’t blame you. You kinda got pummeled, man-- no offense.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“None taken.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They brought him in through a backdoor and Gavin tossed him into a holding cell, none too gracefully, not even bothering to remove Chris’s handcuffs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I gotta get some ice,” he said, pointing to his eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris nodded his okay. “I gotta go fill out some paperwork for this, check in, you know,” Gavin did know, he’d done it, and he didn’t envy Chris for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He left for the break room, hoping to find something he could use to ice his eye, and was frustrated when there wasn’t even anything frozen. Or cold. He cursed under his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered back to his desk, eye throbbing and undoubtedly bruising by the minute. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A small, pink sticky note fell out of his pocket when he reached for his mouse, and he hastily scooped it up. Timidly, he looked around to see if anyone was watching him, then he carefully unfolded it and studied the writing. He just stared at it. He wanted to treasure it, but that was weird, right? Creepy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He traced the word with his thumb, then the smiley, and did it again, running the paper over his skin. He imagined Connor writing it. Did he do it secretively, waiting ‘till Hank was out of sight, or did he write it in full view, unabashedly? He didn’t know which he’d prefer. He traced it again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gavin?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He startled, slipping the paper up his sleeve. He whipped around, ready to tell off whoever had spooked him--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was just Connor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gavin!” He remarked, “Your face!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin nonchalantly shrugged it off, looking to the side with a little bit of a cheeky smirk. “Looks good, right? Does it make me look as ruggedly handsome as I feel—” he shut up when he felt something brush his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slowly looked back at Connor, who had brought his hand up to barely touch his face. Breathing was hard, not that he couldn’t but he didn’t want to stop whatever was happening. Connor’s eyes were full of concern, as his touch ghosted over his cheekbone. His touch was slightly warm, which struck Gavin as odd but he didn’t dare comment on it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor froze, and quickly retracted his hand. Flustered, he said, “That’s going to bruise. You should ice it to reduce the swelling.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Equally as flustered, Gavin stated, meekly, “I couldn’t find any,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait here,” and with a turn of his heel, he was off to some denizen of the station. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin brought a hand up to his eye, flabbergasted. Tentatively, he pressed down, and hissed at the tenderness. It was gonna swell like a bitch if he didn’t ice it soon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor emerged from the hallway, stiffly holding a frozen water bottle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“T-thanks,” He stuttered. Stuttering? Like a highschooler? Get yourself together, Gavin. He grabbed it, hyper-aware of his hand brushing Connor’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed in satisfaction at feeling the cold on his abused skin, relishing in the relief. “Seriously, thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s no issue,” Connor said, smiling, “But if you don’t mind me asking, who did this to you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face was perfectly placid-- so Gavin didn’t think it’d do much harm to tell him. “Some guy was beating an android to an inch of his life so Chris and I,” he paused, and backtracked a little. “I was sent on patrol with Chris this morning.” Connor nodded, following along. “So this guy was beating this other guy, so we pulled him off, I checked out the injured android, and all the sudden the other guy comes barreling towards me. Slams me to the ground, I smack my head, he gets a couple’a good shots on me before I could get him off of me. He takes off in flight, Chris catches him. It’s fine,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pleasant look on Connor’s face got strained, “It’s not fine, Detective.” was that… guilt? “But I asked </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah, shit.. That was creepy. “Remember Blakes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor dropped the nice look, looking miffed (about as angry as he could look, if he could guess). Terminator mode, Gavin joked with himself. It seemed Connor had come to a decision on what to do with that information because he turned on his heel again to walk toward the holding cells. Shit! What was he doing? How did he know Blakes was back there? In a flurry, he shot out his hand that wasn’t holding the bottle and clutched Connor’s sleeve. He stopped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin laughed, trying to diffuse the situation a little. “C’mon, Con,” Internally, he screeched at himself. ‘Con’? He’d never called him that before! “Don’t do anything… rash.” Connor’s brows furrowed, and he relaxed a little, but still seemed decided on… what? Beating Blake into a pulp?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin tried again, “Please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That did it. Connor’s eyes softened and he turned away completely from the holding cells. “Sorry, Gavin, I just..”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” He replied, mind supplying Chris’s statement from earlier, “I get that way too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor was silent for a moment, but perked up when his eyes landed on Gavin’s desk. Must’ve noticed the note was gone, which meant Gavin had seen it. It burned a hole through his sleeve. Did he pull it out and let Connor know he hadn’t tossed it? He wanted to, but something held him back. It felt like that had been happening a lot lately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin decided to try and spark up some small talk. “Any news on our case?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Connor said, clearly frustrated. “It’s taking longer than it should. I worry what might be left at Zlatko’s residence,” he looked Gavin dead in the eyes. “Do you have a concussion?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, I don’t think so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Connor said, switching back to the topic at hand, “Hank’s been bugging the Captain about it, but right now there’s nothing he can do. I think it’s taking so long because the higher ups are debating on whether or not to classify the crime as serial.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hot damn, serial, huh? Gavin always had a suspicion, but hearing it? Damn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s… shit, I guess.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neither of them said anything. It was… fine, if Gavin had to put a word on it. The conversation was likely stunted by the excessive contact they’d just exchanged. ‘Excessive’, like fingertips were excessive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor spoke up. “Do you mind if I check your eye? I would like to make sure there aren’t any fractures in your skull.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Knock yourself out,” he said. The kind-of pun was unintended, but Connor seemed to enjoy it anyways.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor pulled down the water bottle, and began to gently prod at the bruising around his eye. It was swelling, he could tell, as his range of vision was slightly smaller than the other eye. He grimaced at Connor’s poking and pressing, but when Connor stepped back, worried he’d hurt Gavin, he waved it off and told him to continue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water bottle was pushed back to his eye, but Connor hadn’t finished yet, apparently. He reached a hand around the back of his head, pressing there too. Probably to check for injuries from when he got slammed to the ground. It was fine-- he knew he’d be fine-- until suddenly Connor’s fingers pressed into something that </span>
  <em>
    <span>stung</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he hissed as Connor removed his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was blood on his fingers, coating his fingertips innocuously. He was bleeding? Why had it stung so bad?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad I checked.” Connor said, walking to an adjacent desk and swiping a few tissues from a box. “It seems you have an abrasion on the back of your head. Let me go grab some disinfectant, as the wound is probably dirty from the ground. “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he returned, he pulled over a chair like Gavin did, and seated himself behind the detective. The first aid box Connor grabbed was placed on his desk and opened. The antiseptic was removed, poured on a tissue, and pressed gently on the back of Gavin’s head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor had to move Gavin’s hair out of the way, and Gavin’s brain stopped for a moment when he placed his whole hand on the back of Gavin’s head. Whenever Connor’s fingers would shift, or adjust to the curvature of Gavin’s head, his hand would close into a fist to keep him from twitching. The last thing he needed was a stray wing to knock Connor out of his chair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tissue stung, but it was bearable. It stung more when Connor began to carefully start to wipe at it, trying to get some of the grime and dried blood off. He hadn’t even realized he was bleeding. Did it get into his shirt? His jacket? Not that it would matter-- they were dirty from the ground anyways. What’s a little blood, at that point?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor retracted his hand, and Gavin momentarily missed the warmth. “That should do it. It wasn’t bad, just bled some. It’ll scab over and heal nicely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Gavin could thank him, Tina came bursting in from the front lobby. She wasn’t panicked, just excited. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gavin!” She said, “I got a </span>
  <em>
    <span>daaaate</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He barked out a laugh, “What, you? Impossible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” she laughed, punching him in the shoulder. “Nice shiner, by the way, very chic.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin chuckled. She wasn’t worried like a mother hen so she’d likely heard what happened already. “Who is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s this really sweet barista from the coffee shop,” she began.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin stopped her there. “Is this the same girl you’ve been taking on dates for three months now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn! Mr. Detective coming out to play, huh? What gave it away?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor piped up from behind Gavin. “You’ve been telling people that same thing, verbatim, for over a month now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Connor.” Tina waved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor waved back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyways,” she said, crossing her arms. “Me and the guys were planning to go get drinks tonight. You guys wanna come with?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin turned to look and Connor, who smiled and nodded. “Sounds fun. Text me the details, will you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will,” she got a sly look on her face. “See you two there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only when she left did Gavin realize that he hadn’t needed to ask Connor if he wanted to go, as if they only went places together. Like… they were dating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God dammit, Tina.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t been to any functions like this, besides with you,” Connor said, pleasantly, “I’m excited to interact with my coworkers outside of a professional setting. What about you, Gavin?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll be exciting, all right.” He muttered.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hehe, i know blakes is kind of an... interesting character. i like using him as a sort-of foil for gavin to contrast the two, but this is about all he's worth so he doesn't really come up in the story after this. anyways, thanks for reading! I love knowing that there are people who are keeping with the story's updates and reading them. :)</p>
<p>Up Next (whoa! a teaser?): Gavin gets just a little drunk. Okay, a lot drunk, and both he and Connor use this opportunity to drop some bombshells-- or at least spill their guts a little. ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 'Andirods' and Love (maybe)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gavin got drunk. Very drunk-- but it's fine! He's not gonna spill any of his closest secrets or anything, and Connor is definitely NOT going to take advantage of the fact Gavin won't remember the night.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>CYBERLIFE TO OFFER EMERGENCY MEDICAL SERVICES TO ANDROIDS</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shortly following the brutal beating and near-killing of an Android in Detroit, Michigan, Cyberlife has begun to repurpose their stores to function as Android urgent care and hospital outposts. The company’s press release states simply that “...We’re trying to adapt to the needs of androids, and medical services are a good place to start.” After the Revolution, Cyberlife closed down all of their stores as per federal regulation. However, these stores were the main source of android repair, and since their closing, Androids, for health care, have had to gamble between a human hospital that may not be able to help them, or a possibly shady third-party technician. While Cyberlife does have…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (2:15): How has your job at the DPD been?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (2:15): Again, since when do you fucking care? Fucking radio silence for years and now this? Why don’t you come and find out yourself, huh?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (2:53): That was a joke.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (3:00): … I know.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (3:01): I swear to GOD, Elijah, if you fucking show up at Central Station I will tase you into oblivion.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin was drunk. Undeniably, very drunk. He was going to do something stupid, he knew it. It’s just…. Connor had offered to be the DD for him and maybe Tina, and the sincerity in which he said it, just, yeah. Gavin was drinking heavily. He didn’t usually go this hard, but Tina was, too, and even Chris had started to hit the hard stuff for the night (though his wife was here, too. Probably to moderate him). Said he’d gotten a babysitter for the night so he could have a little fun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor sat at the table, enjoying the company and conversation. They were all pretty nice drunks, thankfully, and the bar wasn’t grimy enough to warrant any fights of any sort. Gavin nursed his bourbon, laughing with Tina at a joke he couldn’t even remember. His face was warm, he was warm.. It was nice. He’d almost forgotten about the case.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes landed on Connor, who had laughed at the joke as well. It was a rare thing, to see Connor laugh like that. Connor smiled a lot, but it was usually close-lipped and guarded. Gavin watched as Connor’s lips parted in another laugh, revealing a set of teeth that he looked at, too. He just. Looked. Watched Connor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor had freckles? Moles? Gavin couldn’t really tell, but he liked them. A lot. He watched them move as Connor spoke, and as he expressed. There were so many of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tina sloppily elbowed him, a little harder than necessary. Not very discreetly, she whispered (loudly), “Psst, Gavin. You’re staring, my guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor turned to look at him, probably seeing the dopey look on his face. “Everything alright, Gavin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm? Yeah, don’ worry.” He replied, continuing to stare. “Why don’t you tell us about your girlfriend, Tina?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pffffft,” She snorted, “You know about her already, stupid. She is beautiful and gorgeous and stunning… I’ve said all this before. How’d you two meet?” She said to Chris. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris laughed, “Oh, man. I’m gonna leave this one to her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His wife laughed, too. “We met in high school, at one of the track and field invitationals. I was there to support one of my friends, and he was there to compete. He tripped on his own feet and I spilled my drink all over him. He had to compete with lemonade soaking his uniform.” She looked lovingly at her husband. “I asked for his number right afterwards.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhmm,” Chris confirmed, resting his head in his hand. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, honey!” she laughed. “Yes, I do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They laughed. Those two were too good for each other. Gavin chanced a glance at Connor, who was still enjoying himself. Good. This bar didn’t have any thirium based drinks so he was worried Connor would feel left out in that regard, but it seems it hadn’t affected him. Nor did this bar have any pool tables or even darts, so they’d have to entertain themselves, which they seemed to be doing just fine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank hadn’t come-- not that anyone expected him to. It was rare to see Hank outside of work or his own house. Gavin had half expected Connor to drag Anderson with, but he was glad he hadn’t. Gavin might be nice when he’s drunk, but he’s not nice enough to deal with Anderson, drunk. Plus, it wasn’t like Anderson needed an excuse to drink, he thought bitterly. He felt bad right after thinking it, telling himself that Hank was improving, even if slowly. He hadn’t come into work drunk since the revolution, and only twice had a hangover on the job. Leaps and bounds, really.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He went to rub at his eye, but stopped himself just in time. It had swollen up pretty bad, and he probably looked like he’d been hit by a car at this point. The gash on the back of his head had begun to itch as it scabbed over, and the bruise on his side from the kick Blakes had landed twinged when he twisted too far. It could be worse. Blakes could’ve concussed him or broken a bone, which would’ve decommissioned Gavin from work for quite a time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Satisfaction bubbled up in his gut when he thought about Blakes spending the night in Central Station’s holding cell. He was a shitty ass person, no question about it. Beating an android senseless, when it wasn’t even fighting back? Certified. He hoped that the android that had been assaulted decided to press charges, after he recovered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tina slapped the table twice in a ‘tap out’ gesture and asked the bartender for a cup of water, which she chugged. She made a big gesture of wiping her lips afterwards, to Chris’s drunken delight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay hydrated!” She shouted, slamming the plastic cup down as if it were a pewter mug and they were inside an inn from ye olde days. “Another one!” The bartender, in a good humor, refilled the cup and returned it, to which Tina also attacked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chug! Chug!” Gavin called, in a fit of laughter. He cheered when she finished, like it wasn’t water she’d just drank.  He looked down at his own drink. It was bourbon, so it was basically fancy hand sanitizer, but he brought it to his lips and finished it off in one go, only regretting it a little. It wasn’t good, but alcohol never tasted good unless it was one of Tina’s. She was always telling him to pull up his hoopskirt and just order one of the ‘girly’ drinks, and he’d considered it, but there was no way in hell he was ordering one in front of a bunch of his coworkers. So he stuck with the hard, nasty stuff. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He set down the glass, hearing the satisfying click as it hit the table. Copying Tina’s tap out, he hit the table twice and turned to the bartender, who he handed his glass to. “Water?” He asked, giving an inappropriately suggestive wink. Mr. Bartender rolled his eyes, but still filled the glass with water per his request. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turning back around revealed that the others were still chatting amiably, if a little drunken, but also Connor looking at him with wide eyes, lips parted. Gavin kinda just froze like a deer in headlights. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tina caught on, and reached over the table they were sharing and gestured at Connor. “Psst. You’re staring, my guy.” she said, in the exact same tone as earlier. Gavin snorted, hard, and laid his head on the table, chuckling nasally. It seemed to break whatever Mexican standoff he and Connor were in, ‘cause the android was laughing, too. Someone went </span>
  <em>
    <span>aww</span>
  </em>
  <span> across the table (probably Tina) and Gavin just rested his head on the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Raising his head, he looked at Tina, and then Connor. “Welp. I’m drunk. You guys fine with heading back?” He said, resting his hand on the back of his neck, careful to avoid the scab. He sipped at his water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor nodded, as did Tina. “It would be a good idea, even if you two don’t have work tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh yeah, that was right. He didn’t have work. Day off, Connor had said. Strange, he didn’t remember requesting one, but he wasn’t going to say anything. He had a sneaking suspicion Connor had to do with it, though. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes!” Tina said, “Can’t wait for a day off. I’ve been trying to get this extra one for a while now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t wanna keep you. Let’s get going.” Gavin waved his goodbyes to whoever else was there, counted out some bills for his and Tina’s drinks, set them on the bar, and left in tow of Connor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tina got the backseat, much to her vocal dismay. “It smells like shit back here.” She bemoaned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just you, Teens.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She giggled at that, wings sprawling out and bumping the windows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor started the car. Gavin hadn’t even realized he’d given the keys to him, but whatever. He trusted him. Turning away from the bar he addressed Tina. “Where do you live, Officer Chen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tina hacked and ugly sound in the back. “Puh-</span>
  <em>
    <span>lease</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s Tina, to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Tina never gave her address, Connor didn’t say anything. Gavin supplied it, and Connor thanked him. If he had to guess, the android didn’t want to risk being rude by repeating himself. She lived closer to the bar than Gavin, so they’d drop her off first. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tina ‘hmm’ed, sprawling her wings out to use the space. “You two are so cute.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor startled. “Pardon?” Pffft, ‘pardon’, like some old guy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You guys are cute.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Tina--” he began.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tina cut him off. “No, no, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>together.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin choked on his own spit, coughing into his elbow. “Yeah, she’s drunk all right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That is… very clear.” Connor said. “But so are you. Pot, kettle.” the joke made him smile, adjusting his wings to fit more comfortably in the seat. He never had this issue before he’d Manifested. Not that he could complain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They dumped her at her complex without much fanfare, nor trouble. Connor only drove off when she’d slipped into the front door. Connor didn’t say anything after that, not needing his address because he probably remembered it from last time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Street lights intermittently illuminated the car, and Gavin caught something out of the corner of his eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wh-wh- hey hey, you sick or something?” He stammered, mind reeling. Could androids get sick? Vomit? Is that what Connor did when he drank not Thirium things? What did he drink?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor, confused, replied, “I’m not sure what you mean, Gavin. Are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your face is tinged blue, idiot.” Would Connor throw up in his car? Oh god, what if it smells?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The android paused for a moment, and hesitantly brought a hand up to his face, continuing to steer with the other. “Oh. It appears that thirium has gathered in my facial plating. More than usual, that is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat there, feeling dumb. “English?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m… blushing, Detective.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” That made sense, to some extent in his drunken mind, until it didn’t. “Wait-- why the fuck can you do that? </span>
  <em>
    <span>How</span>
  </em>
  <span> can you do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor made a non affirmative noise. “I’m not sure. It’s a deviancy thing, I’d have to guess. Many things about deviancy still confound me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin exhaled through his nose. “Yeah, that’s life for you.” He sat, lazily wiping his face (not his eye, mind you). “Actually, one sec. I might be able to find out.” and clumsily fished his phone out of his pocket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opened his texts. Some part of sober Gavin was literally screaming for him to stop, but he forged onwards. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (10:58): hey why can andirods blush</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (10:58): Why? Are you making ‘andirods’ blush?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (10:58): maybbe . like, how thiogh</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (10:58): Are you drunk, Gavin?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (10:59): mayhaps.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin snorted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you don’t mind me asking, Gavin, who are you texting?” Connor spoke quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whether or not Gavin really wanted to tell him, his drunk mouth said it for him. “M’brother,” he muttered, still texting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a pause. Probably looking it up or something. He wouldn’t find anything, that’s for sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s odd. There’s no record of you having a brother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin’s head lolled to the side, looking at Connor. (Who was still blushing a brilliant blue) “Well, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>half</span>
  </em>
  <span> my brother. Not a whole one.” Was it just him, or did he feel drunker than he did ten minutes ago?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” Connor said, with humor, though still not really satisfied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should really shut up. He should, and he knows it, but he kept blabbing on anyways. “Don’t really like each other nowadays.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor, god bless him, seemed pleased at the conversation. “Why not?” Hot damn! If only he knew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Cause he’s a prick. Asshole. Self-serving bastard. Pick yer poison.” That bastard one was pretty funny, considering technically </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the bastard of the family. He breathed heavily, out of his nose, trying to suppress the bitter laugh that bubbled up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That… can’t be healthy, harboring that much vitriol.” Connor muttered, barely audible over the car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin scoffed. “S’been like that for years.” He crossed his legs and uncrossed them again, not quite comfortable in the passenger’s seat. “He was always just… better than me.” As if that could sum up the years of turmoil and bitterness. He didn’t elaborate, didn’t think it necessary, inebriated. If he were sober he’d probably have stunt rolled out of the car by now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The car stewed for a moment, simmering. “I find that hard to believe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s eyes were steely as he spoke. “You are extraordinary, Gavin. You excel at what you do. You’re a formidable Detective, with a nigh unrivaled closure rate. Not only that, but you’ve proven to be an excellent partner, and a friend.” he glanced over at Gavin. “So excuse me if I don’t believe that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Holy shiiiiiiiit. Did he just like, hallucinate all that? His face got very, very warm. Was he flustered?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked away, almost to hide his face. “You really know how to make a guy feel special, Con.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without pause. “You are.” he murmured. Gavin didn’t remember when he’d turned to face Connor, but he was now. He watched Connor bite his lip, nervous. Did he regret saying that? He didn’t seem like it. He sounded so-- earnest. Like he believed what he was saying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Gavin choked out. When did his throat get tight? His face was hot, and he now realized that it wasn’t because he was flustered. Oh. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasted</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then. The salt stung some of the nicks around his bruise. “I’m too drunk, Con. I’m not gonna remember any of this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t say anything, in response to that. They rounded the corner to his building, and Connor parked the car neatly in the lot. Gavin pushed the door open, and stepped out, surprised at how much the world swayed. He had drank way too much. He had to get to his apartment in case he got sick. He wasn’t going to in front of Connor, not that his stomach was tumultuous at the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rounded the front of the car, to be stopped by Connor’s body. He barely stopped himself from colliding. His wings shined in the lamplights. He looked down at his feet, trying to regain his footing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for driving me home.” he said.  Across from him, Connor nodded, pulling Gavin’s hand to him and setting the keys in his palm. Gavin shoved them into his pocket. He looked up, to see the android’s face, full on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was puzzling. That same, indecipherable look that Connor had been wearing constantly. His eyes were soft, yet held insurmountable quantities of-- something. He couldn’t put a finger on it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor said something confusing, right then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said you weren’t going to remember this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At Gavin’s affirmation, he did something even more confusing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands, very slowly, were brought up to caress Gavin’s jaw. He glided a thumb over his chin, feeling the contours of his face. Then, very tenderly, he tilted Gavin’s face downwards, and oh, so gently pressed his lips to the crown of his head. They stayed there, connected, for a moment. Or an eternity. He wasn’t sure. Connor wings came to surround the both of them— and what did that mean, again? It… meant something. He just… missed that pressure, and that contact, and the warmth when Connor pulled away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I--I-- Connor, please--” Gavin said, just spewing out whatever came to his mind. He just couldn’t--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get some rest, Gavin.” Connor said. Why? “Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin, like a fucking idiot, didn’t invite him up. He just turned and trudged to his apartment, leaving Connor. Inside his apartment, he tossed himself into his shitty fuck-ass sofa and held his face in his hands, willing the world to disappear. Like a child, he thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His phone buzzed in his pocket. Not wanting to deal with it, but morbidly curious anyways, he fished it out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (11:23): You should be careful drinking that much. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (11:30): I hope you’re not driving, Gavin. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (11:37): Why did you ask about the blushing?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tossed the phone onto the couch next to him, trying to delay what he was going to do next. It was stupid, he hated, it and the only reason he was going to do it was because he won’t remember it tomorrow. Hopefully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Dialing Fuck you…..</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It rang for a solid moment, and for that hot second Gavin thought Elijah would let it run to voicemail. It didn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Gavin?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t heard his voice for years, outside of press releases and videos from Cyberlife. Ignoring the question, he barrelled onwards. “Why do they do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The line was silent, and he heard some rustling fabric. Was he in bed? He hoped he hadn’t woken him up. Wait, no, he did. “Blushing? It’s a reaction that has to do with an android’s thirium pressure--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Gavin stopped him. He sniffed. “Not that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah sighed. “I don’t know what you mean, then. You’re drunk. You should hang up--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why did he,” Gavin swallowed. “Why does he do… it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do what? Who? Gavin, I want to help, but you’re obviously--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Care</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he forced out. After that, he couldn’t stop. “Why does he care? You’re the android fucking god, and I-- I just want to know. ‘Cause he shouldn’t. I’ve been nothing but-but and irredeemable </span>
  <em>
    <span>prick</span>
  </em>
  <span> to him, ever since the day he showed up at work. And then I fucking Manifested and now it feels like the world has just taken off at breakneck speed and I’m not wearing a seatbelt, ‘Lij. I just,” he stopped, throat closing. He couldn’t. He bowed his head between his knees, overwhelmed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing. He thought he’d hung up, for a moment, and he’d resigned himself to driving him away further.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is about… Connor? And he’s being kind to you, and you don’t know what to do with that?” He estimated, sounding intrigued.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin’s face scrunched as tightly as it could, black eye be damned. “It’s more than that. So much more.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin, answered, breathy, woozy. “Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you considered,” Elijah proposed, level. It really wasn’t fair most days, how much faster Elijah was than him, let alone when one of them was drunk out of their mind. “That he’s genuine about it? That he truly… thinks of you like that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know, ‘Lij,” Gavin muttered. “It’s just-- they’ve always been machines, like you made ‘em,” and promptly fucked off, but he didn’t say that. “And now.. They can feel, care--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Love.” Elijah’s voice rang out, clear as a bell. “Yes, they can. Androids are so much more than we give them credit for, Gavin. It’s good to hear you’ve,” he paused, “come to terms with androids, because I think a wonderful opportunity has befallen you, and it would be a terrible shame to miss it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin didn’t speak. That-- word, that horrible, wonderful word kept bouncing around his skull like a cat on crack cocaine. It was ripping his brain to shreds. For a moment, he was glad he would forget tonight, and wake up tomorrow with nothing but a hangover and a bad disposition. He just wished he could remember that one thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He mumbled a thanks to Elijah, who said something stupid and let Gavin hang up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He just.. Needed to remember that, even if it did scramble his thoughts like breakfast eggs. Almost ceremoniously, he pulled Connor’s note from his sleeve where he’d kept it all day (and it hadn’t fallen out, somehow), and then in a burst of energy shot up and scrambled through his junk drawer for a pen. When he found it, he very slowly (he was drunk, alright? The note would be useless if illegible) scrawled the word on the back, then examined his handiwork.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the front:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hi :-)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the back:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Love.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Satisfied, he tucked it into his jacket pocket, hung it up, and fell into bed, barely managing to toe his shoes off over the edge before he conked out completely. As he drifted off, he just thought about Connor kissing the top of his head like he was the greatest thing in the world. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Love</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Teehee. andirods was a genuine typo at first but i liked it so much i kept it. this was a fun chapter. some eli goin' on, good good. connor's confused but so is gavin so it's fine. thanks for continuing to read! really love to see people sticking with this. have a good day &lt;3</p>
<p>Next Up: They do NOT go on a cute lunch date with Sumo. Absolutely not.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Lend a Hand (in Hand)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gavin wakes up and isn't angry at what happened the previous night, but conflicted. Good thing Connor's got the uncanny abilities to, A.) sneak Sumo where he shouldn't be, and B.) kick down Gavin's defenses with the force of a hurricane.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Late Manifestation in Michigan? By Yell0rp</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey guys, I’m pretty new to this forum and stuff, and I love what you guys do. Chronicling info about the nature of Manifestations and reasons why the process may be interrupted-- it’s always been really cool to me, and I was really happy to find you guys. I have a quick question, though. So, there’s a registry of every Unmanifested person in the states, right? But unless you’re law enforcement or Unmanifested yourself you don’t have access to the names, just the numbers. I was looking through the states’ registry numbers and came upon this: &lt;25B.png&gt; and it struck me as odd, so I used the wayback machine to a few months ago and found this: &lt;29.png&gt;. One of the numbers was removed, and wasn’t marked deceased. It’s been months, and hasn’t changed. Does this mean there was a Late Manifestation? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Belugawhalez:</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wow! Nice find, Yell0rp! It looks like that might be the case, which is incredible. Late Manifestation is like winning the lottery two times in a row-- if one of the tickets is not Manifesting in the first place, which is a pretty crummy lottery. We’ll see if we can get an exact name and date for it to put in the archives. Thank you for noticing, and welcome to the forum!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin’s day off was fine. Sure, the hangover was killer but what was a hangover to a Captain-sanctioned day off? Concussion-levels of pain and light sensitivity were small potatoes. The first half was stationed in front of his TV, preening while some shitty soap opera played. He routinely shoveled aspirin down his throat to help combat the headache, and it helped somewhat. Honestly, he was surprised he hadn’t fallen flat on his ass last night, either. Must be the wings. Right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His head hurt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He saw his texts from last night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to puke when he saw them. That could’ve been the headache, though. He’d just… up and texted Elijah, huh? About blushing androids? He was appalled that he’d A.) texted his half-brother, willingly, and B.) probably let it spill that he existed to whoever was in the car at that point. He just prayed that he didn’t slip who he was. Not even Tina knew that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>called </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. Like some fucking moron, or something. There wasn’t any record of what had been said, but it wasn’t a ding-dong ditch of a call. They’d spoken for a good few minutes,but the details were generally fuzzy. He’d probably made a fool of himself (not that Elijah needed fodder for </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> cannon) by spitting acid curses and insults through the phone. He probably hadn’t even given his half-brother a chance to speak. Elijah hadn’t texted his customary morning BS, anyhow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His memory started getting fuzzy around the time he’d finished his last drink. But-- not fucking fuzzy </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It only really got hard to remember around the time he’d gotten home, when he’d called Elijah like a moron.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, yeah. He’d gotten less drunk than he’d thought. Thing is, Gavin would never fucking cry in front of someone unless he was piss drunk out of his mind, or fucking dying. Sure, he could get a little touchy-feely if he really wanted to, but just straight up crying and spilling his guts about his brother? Not in a million years. He doesn’t cry, that’s not how it works. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What was it about Connor that made him do that? What made him different? Sure, the alcohol probably didn’t help, but he wasn’t as loose lipped with some booze in his system that his actions from last night would suggest. Connor just must have been able to… kick down his guards, he guesses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt bad. The only reason Connor had-- well, did what he did, was because Gavin told him he wouldn’t remember. He’d lied. It wasn’t intentional, sure, but he’d lied to Connor all the less, compelled him to do something he probably wouldn’t have otherwise. Connor would regret it if he knew that Gavin remembered. So, obviously, Connor couldn’t know. It was that easy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d just have to live with the inexplicable thrill that shot through his body whenever he brought a hand to the crown of his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d skipped breakfast, not thinking it’d do much good in the face of his hangover, opting for several cups of coffee, which he sugared-- something he didn’t usually do. He was surprised he’d even had sugar in his apartment. He hadn’t used it before, at least. The coffee was decent, he was surprised to find, and he filed that away for later. Maybe sugaring the station coffee would help it ascend from unidentifiable sludge into dubious slime.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His feathers straightened nicely under his fingers. He examined the different types as he fixed and fussed with them-- the contour feathers around the bone of the wing made it so the wings had some sort of shape other than bony-ness, and the flight feathers tended to be a little difficult, due to either their size or their rachis, the spine of the feather being particularly large. Those were the best to fix. It wasn’t easy to push them crooked, but it was always a treat to right them. He’d been doing this since probably 11:00 and it was a good half hour after noon, so he’d have to stop soon or else he’d waste his whole day doing nothing particularly productive. Not that he really planned to do that either, but only doing one thing all day seemed like a bad idea, and he could very easily squander it preening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a knock at the door. Confused, he stood up and paced to it. He wasn’t presentable by any measure-- shirtless and in some ratty sweatpants. It was easier to take care of his feathers without a shirt on. Nothing got snagged, that way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He drew the chain lock, then the knob lock, and cracked it open, peering into the hallway. He saw a figure-- than something large, furry, and fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>heavy</span>
  </em>
  <span> barrelled into him, knocking him on his ass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No-- no! Sumo! Off!” Connor struggled, yanking on the leash. Gavin sputtered as his face was barraged with a slimy tongue that belonged to a dog a little too friendly for his own good. Connor gave one, good tug to the collar and Sumo retreated, looking damn well pleased with himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor rubbed the back of his head, sheepishly. “Sorry, Gavin! I didn’t think he’d--” he stopped upon seeing his state of undress. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shirtless, legs spread apart on the floor in thin, grey sweatpants-- the sight had to be borderline obscene. Some part of Gavin was unbelievably smug at the fact Connor’s processors took a dive off a cliff-- he still had it, at least a little, but his conscious got the best of him and he scrambled upwards, face tinged a violent red.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor tore his eyes away with a strained inhale, his wings twitching slightly as he pulled them back behind him from where they’d dropped at the sight. Sumo, right next to him, pawed at his pant leg and Connor diverted his attention to the dog, cheeks tinted blue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> why he asked Elijah about the blushing. A little high on that interaction, Gavin gathered himself, a smidge giddy, and pushed himself up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Detective Reed,” Connor said, measured. It was clear he was collecting himself. “I-I was wondering if you’d like to take a walk with Sumo and I,” he said, not meeting Gavin’s gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin narrowed his eyes. “How did you get him up here? It’s pretty far from Anderson’s, and pets aren’t allowed in the building.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor did look up, this time, happy to answer. “Hank let me take the car today. Which is a big step considering he didn’t let me drive it with him in it two weeks ago. And about the pet policy--” he fiddled with the end of Sumo’s leash. “No one stopped me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smirked, checking the time on the digital clock on the TV. 12:54. “Yeah, I’ll fucking take a stroll with you and your dog. Let me get, uh,” He said, deliberately glancing down at his body. “dressed, though, first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gesturing the two in, he shut the door behind them. Connor was in his apartment. In. His. Apartment. He was almost embarrassed by how shitty it was. No one really visited often, besides Tina, and that was once in a blue moon. They usually met at her place if they were going to watch a movie or get drunk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin speedwalked to his room (no, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>flee</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it wasn’t like he had anything to flee from), and shut the door behind him, taking a moment to catch his bearing as he leaned up against the door. A walk. How domestic. With him? Probably the least domestic person in the fucking universe? Connor’s thought processes must’ve been some fucking state-of-the-art piece of flaming shit, because no one in their right mind would want to fuck off around town with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rummaged through his drawers, pulling out a t-shirt. What was the temperature out there, he thought</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, what’s it like out there?” He called, hoping Connor would know </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s voice replied, “It’s 72 degrees Fahrenheit, and sunny. It’s actually the warmest Thursday since August.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huh, warm. He decided to go with the tee and just some jeans. He wouldn’t wear his jacket, today. The tee hadn’t been worn since he’d Manifested-- the holes in the back for wings weren’t stretched out from Gavin squeezing his wings through. It was a tight fit, but the shirt itself was well-loved, and not yet ratty. Double score. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slipping out of the room, he stood in his kitchen for an awkward moment, then decided to take a few more aspirin for the road. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he downed them, he took a moment to look at Hank’s dog, who was sniffing around in his apartment. The thing was fucking huge, bigger than any dogs Gavin had bothered to associate himself with. Sumo, which was apparently his name, looked at him with big, beady eyes, and let out a deep </span>
  <em>
    <span>boof</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Gavin kept staring, hoping that the dog would get, he didn’t know, intimidated, or something. Instead, it’s tail started wagging and it started tugging on the leash, probably wanting to knock him over like a bowling pin again. He sniffed. It was… cute. There. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking down the stairs, he was surprised the big dog didn’t fall down and tumble down the rest of the steps like a slinky. The lug was more tactile and less bumbling than its size would suggest. Connor watched the dog carefully anyways. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got the day off, too?” Gavin asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, though I must admit, purely because I couldn’t stand waiting for our confirmation at the precinct.” said Connor. His sight landed on Gavin. “I figured I could keep my mind off it more if I wasn’t at work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin pursed his lips. “This whole situation is damn annoying. I knew it was serial, like, two weeks after I got the case, and now these asshats gotta debate it? It’s clear as day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was very nice outside--Connor wasn’t kidding when he said it was one of the warmest days in months. He unconsciously fanned out his wings about to get some of the breeze in them. Yeah, that was nice, if he ignored how the light made his head throb a little harder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I agree,” Connor said, gesturing to the direction they’d be walking. “Did you try to report it as serial when you were the only one on the case?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snorting, he started to walk. “Hell yeah, I did. Nothing ever came from it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fowler must’ve put Hank and I on the case in case it was.” Connor tilted his head, pensive. “I wonder why he didn’t file it as a serial murder before this all happened.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cap is more sensitive than we like to give him credit for,” he said. “Probably didn’t want the info to leak to the public under a serial murder. Still, this sucks though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It does, indeed.” The pavement was warm-- at least it reflected back at them warm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin kicked a rock down the sidewalk, feeling awkward. “What inspired you to uh, walk, today?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Connor asked. “I walk every day. Unless you’re asking why I went out of my way to walk with </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, in which case it’s because I value your company. Sumo also needed a change of scenery.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head, he smiled to himself, embarrassed at Connor’s answer. For some reason, though, he didn’t think it was the dog who needed the change in scenery.  “So this is Sumo.” he stated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor nodded. “He’s a purebred St. Bernard, and--” the android bent forward slightly, to give the dog a pat on the head. “--a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>good boy.” The sight was sweet, the android cooing at the dog like he was a big furry baby.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin didn’t say anything about that, but apparently Connor had a shitton to talk about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He once ate a whole plate of spaghetti that Hank was getting ready to eat-- it made his stomach upset, but I don’t think he learned his lesson.” Connor straightened his tie-- why was he dressed professionally outside of work, anyways? “He keeps trying to steal the food I take to Hank. I worry about the food he gets when I’m not looking.” Addressing Gavin, he continued. “Have you ever had any pets?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question startled Gavin. He hadn’t-- he could barely take care of himself nowadays, much less an animal alongside that. However, something did pop into his head. Elijah had a cat when they were younger, some fuzzy black thing that he’d just brought home one day. They’d let him keep it. If it had been himself who’d begged to keep it--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gavin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d already let it slip about having a brother, right? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t, but uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, hoping he wasn’t about to spill it accidentally. “My brother had a cat, when we were young.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor was surprised, but it didn’t seem to be from the fact he had a brother. “I was… under the impression you didn’t speak about him often.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why do you talk about him with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin considered that, for a moment. Tina knew he had a brother, but never spoke about it. She didn’t know who, though, nor did Connor. It was obvious; Connor just made him want to spill his guts every time he spoke, like some sort of secret PEZ dispenser. It was pathetic-- he’d built up all these walls and a damn good facade, and for what? Connor to just kick them to the ground and curb stomp them?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Measured, Gavin replied, “It’s, uh, complicated.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand.” The android acknowledged. Gavin gave him an inquisitive look, intrigued. Connor continued. “Deviancy is confusing. Not everything is as cut and dry is it used to be, when I was a machine, so I empathize with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walked in amicable silence for a moment. “The cat was black.” He said, breaking it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor didn’t say anything, just listened, encouraging.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His name was Mittens, which was dumb, because he was all black and didn’t have the coloring for it, but he insisted on it anyways.” He laughed. “It was my brother’s, technically, but we both took care of him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve never met a cat,” Connor said. “What are they like?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dogs, but smaller, and moodier.” He laughed, crossing his arms. The sun felt good. “Cats are fucking weird.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor smiled with him. “Sounds interesting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Interesting’s a word for it. They’re just about at dumb as dogs, but instead of being good natured about it, they’re just pricks.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor considered that. “I still would like to meet a cat, even if they’re rude. Who knows, they might turn out to be a good companion.” The android said, suggesting something else. It was terribly concealed that he was actually referring to Gavin, but before he could stumble his way around that, something large flew by his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Woah!” Someone shouted. Before he could grab at whatever flew by his head, though it landed in front of him. Sumo, excited by all the movement, began pulling on his leash and barking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A young adult stood in front of him, wings spread wide behind them. “I didn’t hit you, did I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin shook his head, bitterness welling up in his stomach. They’d been flying without regard to their surroundings, and had almost kicked his head in their rush. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, jeez, that’s good. I’m working on my speed when I’m flying. The track season’s starting up soon at school and I’m training as much as I can,” She said, quick to over share. She paused, and looked Connor up and down in a way that made Gavin’s feathers bristle, who was idly restraining Sumo from pushing her over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re an android?” She asked. Hesitantly, Connor nodded. “I haven’t seen a ‘droid with wings like that, before. Can you fly?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head in disbelief. “That’s nuts man. How fast?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor looked at Gavin awkwardly. He shrugged in response. “Faster than most humans.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidding</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She gawked. “You gotta show me, dude.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry--” he addressed her. “I’m currently preoccupied. Happy training.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She jumped in front of him, causing him to take a large step back so as to not hit her. She spread her wings out wide, effectively blocking the sidewalk. Gavin seethed. What the fuck does she think she’s doing? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She put her hand out. “No, you’re going to show me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin stepped forward, raising his wings to hopefully spook her off. It did, and seeing the sheer mass of feathers shadowing the ground, she stumbled backwards. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, man, I thought androids were supposed to listen or some shit,” she sneered, and after an admittedly impressive takeoff she disappeared from sight. Gavin broiled in his anger. Piece of shit-- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who the fuck did she think she was, talking to you like that?” He spat, turning to Connor. The android just stood there stiffly, looking frazzled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor waffled for a moment. “That-- was unexpected. My apologies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fuck are you apologizing for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I--” he said, confused. “She only became hostile because I wouldn’t listen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin scoffed. “Yeah, which you </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” At Connor’s blank stare, he continued. “You don’t have to apologize ‘cause someone else was being shitty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor nodded, seemingly understanding, but still stiff as a board. Carefully, Gavin took a small step to Connor’s side, like he had at New Jericho, and when Connor didn’t respond, he took another, the space between them infinitesimal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s head tilted, and he smiled gratefully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, how about we go grab something to eat? I know a place that’s dog-friendly.” Gavin proposed, gesturing to Sumo, who wagged his tail excitedly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They turned the corner to go back to the front of Gavin’s apartment building, where Hank’s car was parked. They ushered Sumo into the backseat, who forlornly climbed in after some coaxing, and for the first time Gavin got to sit in the front of Hank’s shitty car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t much better, considering Sumo constantly tried to climb into his lap while Connor was driving, and when he wasn’t being difficult, he rested his head on the top of Gavin’s seat and drooled on his shoulder. Really, the only difference was he could poke Hank’s hula girl dash decoration. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He poked it again, and watched her dance. Who even bought these things, anyways? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor drove Hank’s car like it was a fucking Model T or something, as if it was absolutely priceless. Every turn was made like the steering would give out, and the brakes used so carefully you’d think they were broken. Gavin scratched Sumo’s chin absentmindedly as they made their way to the cafe. It didn’t allow dogs inside, but there was a little outside portion that dogs could join their owners on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a small establishment, but they had some good food and a damn good coffee to boot. He didn’t go here often, but when he did it was usually with Tina. She liked their bagels, he believed. It was cozy, not too big, and it wasn’t chic enough to warrant waves of hipsters, so it wasn’t that bad for a quick bite or a coffee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat Connor and Sumo down at one of the tables outside, and stepped in, bought a tuna sandwich and a black coffee, and grabbed some sugar packets after a moment’s consideration. And then he asked for a cup of water, for Sumo. The barista looked like she couldn’t be more delighted to help, for some reason, and even got them a bowl of water for the dog. He muttered his thanks and brought the stuff out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lowering the bowl to the ground, he put his food and the coffee on the table, feeling awkward that he wasn’t able to get Connor anything. Not that Connor seemed to mind. Sumo happily lapped at his water, and Gavin sat down to eat something for the first time that day even if his stomach was a little less than stable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tuna sandwich was good, unsurprisingly. Why didn’t he go here more often, he wondered. He should.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad you ordered something to eat,” Connor said, across the table. The table they’d sat at was small, with only two chairs, so they were in pretty close quarters. Gavin shot him a confused look as he took another bite. “My scans told me that you likely hadn’t eaten for at least fifteen hours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Swallowing, Gavin almost felt violated, but very sternly he reminded himself that it was probably out of concern, not a desire to invade his privacy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They, uh, they can tell you that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor nodded. “They can! Along with quite a bit of other information.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Such as…?” Gavin prompted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Identity, criminal record, fatigue, general stress level, full name--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin choked. “Full name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The android tilted his head, curious. “Yes, full name. That’s one of the less impressive ones, actually. I can tell a human’s BMI if they show enough skin.” He seemed particularly proud of that, despite it being really weird. The full name thing caught him, though. What did it say? Technically, legally, he was Gavin Lewis Kamski-Reed, and that was a piece of shit name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trying to seem nonchalant about it, he examined his sandwich. “What’s it say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your BMI is 19, Gavin, which is perfectly healthy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He almost put his face in his hands. “No, the name, tin can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor's mouth formed an ‘o’, “Gavin Lewis Reed. Have you forgotten your name, Detective? Maybe Blakes hit you harder than we thought.” he teased.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hardy-har,” Gavin snarked in return. “Why don’t you tell me how that stress level thing works?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A surprised look crossed Connor’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you shocked?” Gavin asked, deadpan. “I’m just curious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not that.” Connor said, a little bit of a funny quality to his voice. ”No one ever asks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, yeah. Hadn’t it been the same thing when he asked about his LED? “Well, I have. You gonna answer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, enthusiastic. “It’s really quite interesting,” and began his tirade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin hated to admit it, but it was. It differed depending on if he was measuring the stress levels of a human or an android. A human’s stress levels could be measured by external tells; sweat, posture, muscle tension, but androids worked way differently. To be able to approximate an android’s stress levels there's the obvious tells like the human’s, but they can be unreliable in androids, so Connor effectively had to guess how many commands and thought processes the android was running in that moment. Without access to the android’s head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So it’s guesswork?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slightly miffed, Connor said, “It’s a little bit more complicated than </span>
  <em>
    <span>guesswork</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right then, Gavin’s phone vibrated-- a text. He pulled it out of his pocket, turning on the screen to find the text was from Tina</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Tina (2:03): &lt;img3302.heic&gt; cute date :eyes:</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Squinting, he zoomed in on the photo. It was… of him and Connor? At the table they were sitting at, right now. Was she creeping on them? He followed the line of sight from the photo, and it lined up right to the glass door that connected the outside portion of the cafe and the inside. The barista from earlier was absentmindedly scrolling on her phone at the register. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well fuck me sideways. That’s Tina’s girlfriend, isn’t it?” Gavin said, leaning back on his chair. At Connor’s silence, he looked over to see him with his cheeks tinged blue, staring blankly at Gavin. After a second of confusion between the two of them, Connor seemed to come to a realization</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s an idiom, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. It is.”. Gavin replied. Did he think--- nevermind. “Tina just texted me. That’s definitely her girlfriend.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>And I thought she liked the bagels.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin floundered. “You did?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Connor said, “She shows photos of her dates to everyone at the precinct.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor tilted his head, confused. “Why not? I was under the impression you were friends.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We are,” He held the photo up for Connor to see. “She likes to fuck with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not very friendly,” Connor said, his brows furrowing as he inspected the image. It took him a suspiciously long time before he looked up and very innocently asked, “Is this a date?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sputtering, Gavin tried to respond to that. Of course that’s what he takes from it. “I-- uh, Connor,” what the fuck are you doing? Tell him no!, he yelled at himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor continued, regardless of Gavin’s waffling. “The internet states that dates are social events in which two people connect personally. That makes this seem like a date, does it not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Connor--” Gavin struggled. “There’s a lot more, uh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>connotations</span>
  </em>
  <span> to dating. More than just personal connection.” Satisfied with his answer, he went to take a sip of his 2:00 PM coffee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Considering that, Connor nodded, coming to rest his hands placidly on the top of the table. “That’s a good point. If that’s all it takes, then we would have been dating for over two months.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He spit the coffee back into the cup, and then tried to play it off like it had gone bad or something, like Connor’s statement hadn’t made his heart leap up his throat. He just stared dumbly at the android across from him. He took a shuddery breath, preparing to say something. “Con--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you mean romantic or sexual intention, Gavin.” Connor said. And then promptly said </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing else</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Wait-- has Connor been conducting their lessons with romantic, or god forbid, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sexual</span>
  </em>
  <span> intention? How is he supposed to respond to that? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like an idiot, he eventually did, with a question that he wished he could regret. “Can androids like, I dunno, be romantically inclined?” He asked, out of the blue. Connor’s eyes widened, surprised by his boldness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, yes. Just like any human.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit, that was an offensive question, wasn’t it? Past Gavin would have sneered and pushed on, but now he found himself stuttering out an apology. “I-- sorry, that was insensitive.” he said, putting his hand on the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But instead of spitting something back, like he expected Connor to do, he just nodded understandingly. “It’s alright, Gavin. You’ve always known androids to be nothing more than machines. It’s okay to ask questions: it’s a part of growing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You and your growth,” Gavin said, doubting him. Gavin didn’t change-- he didn’t improve himself. He’d always been a shitty person and no matter how hard he tried it couldn’t change. Tried and tested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s true,” Connor rebutted, gently. Gavin watched like a hawk as Connor unfolded his hands, and slowly laid one over Gavin’s. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Electricity shot up his arm when Connor swiped his thumb over his skin, tenderly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin, uncertain, staring at their hands, slowly tilted his hand to carefully caress Connor’s fingers, in a gentle hold. Seeing this, Connor maneuvered both of their hands to be something a little more close. More intimate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor pressed their hands together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their fingers slotted next to each other, a puzzle, although a little rough and a little janky, it was complete in some way he couldn’t be on his own. He exhaled, eyes on their hands, entwined. He got lost in the moment, relaxing his body, and he felt the feathers of his wings press awkwardly up against the chair, but he barely registered it. The world was frozen in that moment. It felt like it had been doing that a lot, lately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor gave his hand a little squeeze. He squeezed back. Their hands, together, was a sight Gavin couldn’t tear his eyes away from-- Connor’s fingers fit snugly into the grooves and divots of Gavin’s knuckles, and his own thumb ran along the inside of Connor’s. He was mesmerized. Connor’s skin felt no different from a human’s; it had some give to it, and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The mild weather was no match for the heat from Connor’s skin. He was the sun; and Gavin was soaking up the light, in big, greedy gulps. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pushed their hands closer-- no longer were only their fingers connected, but now their palms pressed surely to one another. Gavin’s hand was bigger than Connor’s, but not much. It was slightly wider, slightly more brutish than Connor’s own elegance. He applied an infinitesimal amount of pressure to their connection. Connor met him with it, even if the movement wasn’t visible to the eye. He couldn’t tell if the android was staring at him or their hands, and he didn’t dare look up, in fear of breaking the moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, something peculiar happened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It started at Connor’s palm, and very slowly, cautiously followed the grooves of his hand, shimmering. Pale skin gave way to white plasteel. For a split second, Gavin wanted to tear his hand away at the slight sensation under his palm, like static electricity but consistent and following a certain path. He didn’t move, though. The border between skin and plasteel shimmered a slight blue, like a wave cresting over Connor’s hand. His hand was pure white. Stunned, he moved his hand a bit, and was surprised to find that Connor’s hand still had some give, even without the synth skin, and it was just as warm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, Gavin did look up, to see Connor staring intently at his hand, eyes wide with surprise. “I didn’t… initiate the interface.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Interface? He wasn’t an android, so why…?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With extreme care, Connor reached under the table and guided Gavin’s other hand to the table surface. With much less hesitation than the first time, they pushed their hands together, fingers interlaced, palm to palm. Same as the first, after a moment the skin of Connor’s hand flowed away, revealing pristine plasteel underneath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s completely involuntary,” Connor said, breathless. Gavin was breathless, too, but for a different reason.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were sitting, together, alone, holding each other’s hands over the table. He swallowed thickly, chest tight. They were fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>holding hands</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they’re hands were next to each other and their fingers were intertwined-- they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>holding hands, oh my god we’re fucking--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gavin? Your heart rate is extremely elevated, are you alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried to say something, but the words got strangled before they could escape. Connor, concerned, leaned forward, and one of his hands let go of his in favor of reaching up his forearm. The white plating still remained, even when Connor moved his hand up his arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-- Connor, I don’t-- I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>--” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s face fell, and shuttered. ”Oh,” he said, pulling both his hands away. No, No! That’s not what he meant-- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not what I meant, Connor!” He choked out, reaching out and grasping his hand before it left the table. “It’s-- hard, words, I just...” he trailed off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t want to fuck it up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s curse gave him pause. A little bit of a sly look passed Connor’s face, as his hands lifted Gavin’s to the center of their little table, where he laid his own on top. “Sorry for the crass language, but I thought it would snap you out of your spiral, there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin’s face reddened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor was open to filling the silence. “I’m sorry for pulling away. I assumed the worst, which I shouldn’t have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Acutely aware of Connor’s hands atop his, Gavin was able to mumble, “You shouldn’t be sorry. I was the one who couldn’t spit out a coherent sentence if it killed me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” Connor said, running a thumb over Gavin’s knuckle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin took a deep breath, processing everything that just happened-- and one thought emerged. He didn’t mind. In fact-- he minded </span>
  <em>
    <span>so little</span>
  </em>
  <span> he didn’t want it to stop. Some part of him, still bitter and venomous about androids, hissed and spat at that thought, but he quashed it down with a vengeance. He wanted this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You deserve to be happy.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They left, soon after that, and Gavin shot Tina’s girlfriend a withering look, who shrugged unapologetically, shit-eating grin on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin tried to invite Connor up, but Sumo prevented him from staying away from home any longer. He gave Sumo a good scratch under the chin as a goodbye, to which the dog boofed happily. He watched in silence as the car pulled away from his building.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Absently, he traced the lines on his hand with his fingers, missing the strange contact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Huh.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If this chapter didn't make your teeth rot even the slightest, please give me your dentist's number. I really like the idea of Connor using his infiltration skills to sneak Sumo into places he shouldn't be. Quick shoutout to DarkTARDIS for kindly pointing out some of the inconsistencies with Gavin's level of drunkeness and how it should affect his memory. </p>
<p>Also I woke up on Sunday to FIVE COMMENTS??? Holy crap you guys, thank you so much. It's really awesome to see you guys enjoying this. Thanks for reading! See you Saturday :) &lt;3</p>
<p>P.S. This is one of two chapters before things start to pick up, plot-wise. </p>
<p>Next Up: They get their confirmation on the case, but it's not all hunky-dory.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Preparation, and Some Other Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>So what if Gavin's a little overwhelmed? At least they get confirmation to go ahead on the case-- even if it's barely even theirs anymore-- and Connor's there to help him stay on his feet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>ELIJAH KAMSKI TO REJOIN CYBERLIFE AS CEO</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>After near complete seclusion from the public eye since 2035, Elijah Kamski announced earlier today that he was approved to return to Cyberlife as the CEO in the coming weeks. When asked about his motives for coming back to Cyberlife after so much time, he simply responded that he “...was reminded why [he] started.” Many have displayed their dismay at Kamski’s return, citing rumors of living with exclusively androids to be indicative of dangerous and potentially exploitative behavior. However, former Cyberlife CEO Trisha Donahue claims she “trusts no one more than Kamski to lead Cyberlife from this point on.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>You (3:25): You’re going back to Cyberlife?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (3:30): Yes.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (3:31): I thought you… disliked Cyberlife.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (3:34): Honestly, I hate it, Gavin. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (3:34): Can I trust you?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (3:35): Yeah. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (3:36): Donahue begged me to come back, likely to save face as Cyberlife spirals out of control after the revolution.  I wasn’t planning on returning, even if she requested I do, but you made me realize something on that call. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (3:37): Yeah, I don’t remember a lot of that conversation. I was zonked.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (3:38): It’s alright. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (3:40): I remembered how much I love Cyberlife, even if it is the source of many of my woes.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (4:00): Good for you, I guess.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Work the next day was insufferably, insufferably slow. His only solace was Connor sending him heart-melting glances from across the precinct, and barely then was it enough to make him forget about the literal death-glares Hank was sending him. It was terrifying, how he could shoot a glare from across a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>building</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and it still sent shivers down his spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did Connor tell him? About their… he didn’t want to say it. It got choked up in his brain, something violently strangling it from surfacing. Hank knew, definitely. There was no other reason for him to be trying to shoot him with his eyes. He pushed on, anyways, and tried to ignore it in favor of savoring Connor’s kind glances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor had gotten him a cup of coffee-- which he’d done before, several times, actually-- but this time it was slightly sweet; sugared. His mind wandered to the previous day, where he’d sugared his coffee at the cafe. He’d noticed, then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was good, the sugar offset the bitterness just enough, but didn’t overpower the flavor too much. Perfect, undoubtedly the product of millions of considerations and processes and mechanical precision, but it had more heart in its intention. Without that, what was he, just a coffee machine? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a time when Gavin believed that. It felt like a year had passed since then, but in reality it had been only a few months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at his hand, envisioning Connor’s wrapped around it, holding him tightly, grounding him, like from yesterday. Connor’s synth skin had receded, apparently without his permission or thought. That was confusing. Why would the skin recede? It wasn’t like he was a computer terminal or something. Closing his hand into a fist, he shoved it into his pocket, thumbing the sticky note still inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d folded it once he’d found it in his pocket, again. It now was only a little larger than a quarter, and he found himself running his nail along the edges more and more often as the day progressed. He never took it out in fear of losing it-- hell, he hadn’t even looked at it before he folded it up that morning in a rush. And now he was here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the station. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doing nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fowler hadn’t assigned him any new cases while they were waiting for confirmation to continue their investigation, for some reason. The captain wasn’t paying him to sit around, but it seemed like he was, actually, and paying Connor and Anderson, too. There was that one time when he went on patrol with Chris, but that had proved disastrous very quickly, once Blakes had shown up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of-- Blakes wasn’t in the holding cell anymore. He’d been moved, or something. Gavin didn’t decide to pursue getting him for assault of an officer, because in all seriousness, Blakes should be taking </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> to court for strangling the shit out of him. Someone bailed him out yesterday, while he was out on a… a… walk, with Connor. No one said anything groundbreaking happened, so it was probably a family member or something, once all the dust had settled about the android’s assault that day. Apparently, the family member had been someone pretty damn ritzy— the kind to gild their feathers and wear expensive jewelry. That’s what Tina said, at least. And the android.. They’d been informed that he would recover, but nothing else. The weirdo Cyberlife hospital was pretty tight-lipped, even to the police force. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those little hospital doodads had been replacing all of the stores. It was a good move-- good for PR, that is. He wondered if Elijah had anything to do with it, but probably not. That started to happen way before it was announced he was rejoining Cyberlife, and he still hadn’t actually joined. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that they’d been talking, and not cussing the shit out of one another was astonishing, to be frank, considering a solid decade of silence preceded it. That time was well-earned, Elijah being the unfeeling prick he is. Gavin still had some sense in him, and once Elijah tried to fuck something up he’d boot him out, again. For as long as it takes. Elijah’s sudden interest in his personal affairs made the feathers on his wings shuffle and ripple-- he was unsure as to why exactly Elijah decided to try and reach out, after all that time. It was alarming, considering he’d willingly secluded himself in a box of a house with only androids for company, that he was now just as willingly reaching out for human interaction-- his own half-brother’s, for that matter, who hated him with a passion. Surely, there were easier people to talk to?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thought process broke off when Tina strut up to his desk, and very, very flamboyantly slid herself atop the surface and crossed her legs. Gavin was already ready to tell her to fuck off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bat her eyes. innocently. “How was your date?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sinking his face down into his hands, he sighed. “You would seem to know more than me, apparently.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aha!” she accused. “It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a date, then!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fed up, and a little nervous about how openly they were talking about it, he grabbed the top of her sleeve and dragged her to their little corner of the break room, where (thank god) no one was occupying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tina,” he said, putting his face in his hands again. “I don’t know,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She inhaled, excited. “I was just poking! It actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Gavin gritted out. “It was a-- uhm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spit it out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off! It was-- something, alright!” He blurted, gripping the table tightly. He’d said it, and it ruffled his feathers some. Was it a date? Not wanting to stay on the topic too long, he continued with something else. “Your girlfriend’s a menace, you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina grinned, good naturedly giving him a gentle shove. “That’s why I like her. But,” she turned the shove into gripping his shoulder. “Let’s talk about that! Gavin, that’s awesome!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t feel awesome,” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina scoffed. “That’s just you overthinking, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brushed Tina’s hand off his shoulder, miffed. “So what if it is?” He said. “I’ve still got the right to be worried, don’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just tell me what’s got your brain in such a chokehold,” she said, unimpressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God! Where do I fucking start with this, Tina?” He said. “He’s an </span>
  <em>
    <span>android</span>
  </em>
  <span>, for one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Gavin,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Tina warned, somehow even more unimpressed. “I thought you were past this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irritation poked hot needles along his spine. Incredulous, Gavin smacked his palm on his forehead. “Well, fuck! Sorry if a decade of vitriol is a little hard to wash off in three months! God,” he laughed, without humor. “there’s just so much fucking happening! First I’m going on--on </span>
  <em>
    <span>excursions</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Connor, then my fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother</span>
  </em>
  <span> starts talking to me again out of the fucking blue, and then there’s probably a goddamned </span>
  <em>
    <span>serial killer</span>
  </em>
  <span> out there, and I’m stuck here just sitting the fuck around!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After he’d said it, the break room fell quiet, and he realized how loud he’d been. His chest was heaving, shoulders drawn up tight and eyes screwed shut as he desperately tried to control his breathing before something undesirable happened. He did, slowly relaxing, and set his head down on the table, on top of his arms, trying to block out some of his surroundings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. Didn’t mean to get so worked up, there.” He muttered into the table, ashamed. He desperately hoped no one heard him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, it wasn’t Tina that responded. A hand, definitely larger than Tina’s, came to rest gently between his shoulder blades, rubbing small circles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, Gavin. Take your time,” Connor said, soothingly. Gavin tensed, shocked, and didn’t raise his head. Shit, had Connor heard all that? Shame burned in his gut, making him close his arms tighter around his skull. Connor continued to press gently on his back. It must’ve been a minute or so before he finally mustered up the will to raise his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was greeted by the sight of a very, very confused Anderson. He looked like he wanted to say something, and very badly, but his mouth just opened and closed twice before he shook his head and stayed silent. Gavin groaned, turning to look at Connor and using a hand to cover his face from Hank’s view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much of that did you see?” He said, tired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor shook his head. “We didn’t see any of it, only heard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not much better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina leaned over. “I brought Connor. Hank came with, even if I told him not to.” Oh good, Tina was still here. She’d gotten Connor, huh?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank scoffed from across the break room. “Well excuse me if I got a little worried when you </span>
  <em>
    <span>specifically asked me not to come</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe don’t be so nosy next time, huh?” Tina snarked, making Gavin bark out a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s hand snaked up from his back to his shoulder, arm brushing his wing. He squeezed reassuringly, and not really thinking, Gavin brought his own hand to lay on top, brushing his thumb over Connor’s skin. Wait-- never mind. Plasteel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. They had spectators. Slowly, he turned to see Hank whose eyebrows seemed to try and crawl over his hairline. Gavin barely stopped himself from ripping his hand from Connor’s and instead opted for staring at him, daring him to say something. Hank pursed his lips, considering something, and thankfully said nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was silent, and definitely not the comfortable kind. Gavin had just shouted sensitive information, including, but not limited to: the existence of his brother, the fact he was seeing (?) Connor, and that there’s probably a serial killer in Detroit. Then, to top it off, he’d worked himself up so much he’d caught some unwanted attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s hand was pulled from his shoulder as he leaned forward on the table to speak quietly to Gavin. “If it helps at all, I’m fairly certain that only Hank, Fowler, and I were able to hear you. Everyone else in the station was either too far away or had headphones in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin nodded, still a little frazzled, and took a moment to look at Connor. Concern, sympathy, and care melded on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank cleared his throat, catching everyone’s attention. “As much as I, uh,” He scratched his beard, looking up. “Would like to watch you too make googly eyes at each other, the only reason Con and I were close enough to hear is because Fowler wanted to see the three of us. So.” He made a vague gesture that boiled down to ‘lets go’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, he shifted his weight off the table, and after a lazy wave at Tina (who shot him a thumbs up, the bitch (he loved her)) he and the others sauntered off to Fowler’s office. He stood close to Connor, avoiding Hank’s gaze at any convenience. That asshole could shut his trap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fowler didn’t make any indication he’d heard what had just happened-- but Connor said he likely had, so the fact he was keeping quiet about it was appreciated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without any sort of vigor, or excitement, Fowler appraised the three men in front of him. “You’ve got the approval on the case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, shit,” Hank said. “That’s a good thing, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fowler leveled him with a stare. “It is, and it isn’t. You got the permission, yes, but now it’s being categorized as serial, and the big guys are going to be breathing down your fucking necks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not going public, though? What’s the hurt in categorizing it?” Connor asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “It never stays confidential. As long as you’re out there, investigating, it’s going to get out, which means public panic.” Fowler sighed, tense. “You guys are going to be walking a very thin line. This killer is android, so it’s unlikely that you’re going to approach this like a human killer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin stepped forward. “You said the ‘big guys’ are going to be watching us. The hell does that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The goddamn U.S. government, Reed. I was barely able to keep them from swallowing the case whole. In return, they’re sending backup for everything you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor brought a hand to his chin, pensive. “That’s not going to help us keep this quiet at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Fowler stated. “It’s a shit situation. You’re cleared to investigate the house tomorrow, at 8:00. Don’t fuck up, ‘cause there’s gonna be some government goons there and if they see you do much as sneeze where you’re not supposed to, they’ll yank the rug right out from us. Dismissed.” And with a wve of the hand, they exited the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They opted to crowd around Anderson’s desk to discuss their next move. Hank took the chair while Gavin and Connor stood side by side, Gavin shifting a little uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Hank said. “What’s… this?” He made a vague motion to the two of them with his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin bristled, wings pluming out in irritation. “What’s it to you, asshole?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank leaned forward, meeting him eye-to-eye, his wings twitching threateningly. “I think I have a right to know, Reed. No need to get your panties in a twist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like hell you do!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, then. Why don’t I ask another question? Since when the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> do you have a brother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a flash, Gavin had Hank’s ugly ass shirt clenched in his fists as he hauled him forward, seething. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shut the fuck up</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank pushed him off, and Gavin stumbled back, anger fueled. He stalked forward, pulling his arm back to clock Anderson on the jaw. Before he could, though a steely grip encased his wrist and yanked him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gavin,” Connor said, warningly. “I understand you’re under stress right now, but this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> the way to go about coping with it.” When Gavin tried to pull his hand away, Connor’s grip remained, constricting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God </span>
  <em>
    <span>dammit</span>
  </em>
  <span>! You know what?” Gavin said, turning to Hank with ice in his glare, and continued with his voice low but not lacking intensity. “I have a half brother. I hate him. He’s not in any of my records and I’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> before any of you prying assholes know him.” Connor’s grip went slack and Gavin pulled his hand away, rubbing at his wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank gave him an incredulous look. “Jesus fuck, Reed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin wanted to leave, right then, but something told him (it was Connor’s disappointed look) that he wouldn’t be allowed to any time soon. Stiffly, he grabbed the chair from Connor’s desk, pulled it over, and fell into it. With a bitter expression , he mock-bowed. “You asked, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which he shouldn’t have,” Connor interjected, sending Hank a strong look. Gavin was almost gratified until that look was transferred to him. “But that is no reason for physical violence.” Connor’s eyes softened. “You have people that care about you, Gavin. Please reach out before engaging in self-destructive behaviors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you, my therapist?” Gavin said sharply. It was weak, and he knew it. Connor just had this way of winding him down out of the blue. It was fucking terrifying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor shook his head, ignoring what Gavin had just said. “Besides, who said that your brother trying to reconnect is a bad thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not talking about this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor leveled him with an unimpressed gaze. Gavin cursed under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes, frustrated. “He’s bad fuckin’ news, alright? Nothing good ever happens when he’s around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank decided to remind them that he was, in fact, still there. “You know what? Sorry I asked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While it was a little backhanded, it was an apology nonetheless, which seemed to sate Connor for the time being. Seemingly pleased with that, Connor changed the topic. “What’s our plan for tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank scratched his beard. “Honestly, kid, I don’t think we’re going to get much of a say in what happens tomorrow.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve dealt with a case or two like this back when I did exclusively Red Ice cases. They’re pretty much running the show, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin took a moment to examine Connor. His LED was yellow, his wings were low, and he looked lost. “There must be something we can do, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All we can do is wait and see.” Gavin said, shifting his weight on the chair. “Honestly, I don’t see the point in staying here if we can’t do anything ‘till tomorrow. I’m probably gonna dip and get some lunch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor perked up when he heard that. “May I accompany you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite Hank’s exasperated look, Gavin nodded. “Yeah, sure. You going to be leaving soon, too, Anderson?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably,” He grumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That works out, then.” Connor said. “Gavin can drive me home. Go ahead and take some time to rest, Hank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank muttered something under his breath that Gavin didn’t quite catch, but judging by Connor’s look of joy, it was okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ended up going to some diner downtown. It was nice, one of those twenty-four hour ones that had good burgers at a decent price. Again, nothing he could order for Connor, though, but he was sure to reassure him that he didn’t mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor nodded. “Of course. I can’t eat, anyways. It’s more about the company.” At Gavin’s blush, he smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They slipped into a booth, the plastic material forcing the both of them to tuck their wings in an awkward position. It was a two-seater, and sequestered in the corner, so it was nice and private.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re different, when it’s only us.” Connor remarked, folding his hands on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tilted his head in consideration. “You’re less rude. Less crass. More… sensitive.” Gavin’s face remained blank, uncomprehending. “It’s a side of you I don’t think many people get to see, when you drop your guard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was true. His unapologetic personality-- while not quite a conscious decision--was a front he put up to keep people at a comfortable distance. Connor had quite simply just kicked through it, after a little bit of struggle. “You make it easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor smiled, a blush tinting his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A waitress was suddenly at their side, asking for their orders. Gavin ordered some burger and a coke, but the waitress seemed keen on Connor ordering as well. Intrigued, Connor politely asked for a glass of water, to which the waitress gladly wrote down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was odd.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huffing, Gavin said, “Your LED’s on the other side of your head. She probably didn’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor brought his hand to lightly circle his LED. “I guess you’re right. Plus, I don’t have standard android wings, so I must look pretty…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Human,” Gavin finished for him. Connor’s mouth parted, surprised, which soon morphed into another heart melting smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the food arrived, Gavin demolished it like it would run if he didn’t finish it in time. It was probably a little gross, but Connor didn’t seem to mind. As Gavin was polishing off the last few bites of the burger, the android spoke up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was serious, earlier, when I said you should reach out to the people that care about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin paused in his pursuit. “Connor--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it.” Connor interrupted. “I care about you, Gavin. I don’t like to see you hurting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He set his burger down on the basket it came in, wiped his hands, and then ran a palm on the back of his neck. “You’re so confusing, Connor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quietly, he replied. “Most things are, I’ve found.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t… imagine, whatever process goes through your mind to make you think I’m worth it.” Gavin said, serious. “I’m not a good guy. I have enough issues to choke a horse, and I deal with stress by hurting others when I’m not hurting myself.” He shook his head, hand ghosting over the bridge of his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s brows furrowed, and he leaned forward. “What makes you have such a low self-image? I’m not sure if you remember our conversation in the car, but does it have to do with your brother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s hand slammed down on the table, and he was just barely able to keep himself from cussing Connor out, right then and there. He wrangled his anger into a box and fucking locked that shit, tight. Don’t snap at Connor, he told himself. He doesn’t deserve it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’d beat the shit out of him, if he wasn’t the only person who was nice to you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He wrangled that into its own box.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Gavin. I shouldn’t have--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised his head, still reigning himself in. “It’s fine. It’s just,” He pulled his hand off the table. “There’s a lot more to it. And a hell of a lot of it I don’t want to even think about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sensing the tension, Connor switched to a different topic after a few minutes of Gavin finishing his food. “What do you think of the case?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think of it?” Gavin sighed. “There’s a lot to think of it, Connor.” Crumpling his napkin, he tossed it into the plastic basket and pushed it to the side of the table. “I mean, android serial killer? Two sets of wings? Sounds like some trashy novel, to be honest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little bit of a smile tugged at Connor’s lips. “It does. But,” His eyebrows furrowed. “The whole situation is rather… frustrating. I wish we had the ability to proceed with the case on our own.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking Connor up and down, Gavin leaned back in his seat (as much as his wings would allow). There was a window next to them, the midday light heating up the black table top. “Just like Cap said it: a shitty situation.” He rolled his shoulder. “We got the permission to go forward, we just gotta do what we can from now on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think the government’s going to take it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.” At Connor’s sharp look, he rolled his eyes, slightly annoyed. “I seriously don’t fucking know, Con. Anything could happen, at this point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor nodded, looking unsatisfied. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What for?” Gavin said, more than slightly annoyed. “If you’re talking about asking the damn question I told you it’s--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” He interrupted, “Not about that. I’m apologizing for earlier. I hadn’t realized how much stress you were under regarding the case and,” he paused. “Us.” He was meek when he said it, seemingly unsure about the meaning Gavin would pull from the word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologize.” Gavin groused. “If anything, I should be thankin’ you. Almost busted Hank’s face to match mine.” With a wry smile he lazily pointed to his (healing) black eye. It had turned a sickly yellow, now, and it was still tender enough to warrant him avoiding sleeping on that side. The swelling had thankfully gone down, though. Connor relaxed a little at the joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes trailed to the untouched cup of water, to which Connor gently nudged towards him. Instead of grabbing the cup, however, Gavin snaked his hand forward, boldly, and set it on top of Connor’s, and used his other hand to bring the cup to his lips. Connor huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. It took some willpower to not snort the water up his nose as he sipped it and smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat like that for a few minutes, hand in hand, as Gavin worked on pushing away the guilt he felt from getting snippy at Connor. He decided on just rubbing his thumb over Connor’s plasteel knuckles, serene. At some point the waitress from earlier quietly set down the check for his burger and thankfully, minded her own business and slipped away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come over,” Connor said. Gavin broke free of the moment, and just stared, puzzled. Connor continued, a little fast.  “I know Hank wouldn’t be pleased, but I think it would be nice. Besides, I’ve seen your living space and I believe it would only be fair--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah, there.” Gavin said, a little incredulous. “Slow down. Hank would have my head on a goddamn platter, Connor. And then he’d stick it in the oven or something. I cannot express to you how bad of an idea that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” the android said, resigned. He leaned forward in on himself. “I just,” he frowned. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling kind of bad for rejecting the idea so vehemently, Gavin acquiesced a bit. “Look, maybe sometime, alright? Not right now, though.” He sipped at the water, still running his thumb over the grooves of Connor’s knuckles. Not willing to let go, he set the cup down and maneuvered his free hand into his pocket and wriggled out a few bills, to which he set on top of the receipt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked toward Connor and tilted his head toward the exit. Connor was the one to let go, this time, and they drove back in an amicable silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling up in front of Hank’s house, Connor turned to Gavin, LED yellow. “Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost said no. He was two milliseconds away from it, until he saw the front door open and a shadowy Hank just… stand there. Menacingly. He felt something cold drip down his spine, and he quickly stuttered out a “no thank you, goodbye.” before slipping into drive and flooring it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shame burned through his chest, and he cursed himself. Way to leave, idiot. Hank probably hadn’t even seen him, let alone purposely intimidated him. And since when is he concerned about what Hank has to think? He hadn’t cared about shit like that since Hank had started drinking himself to an early grave, and much less when he started coming to the precinct smashed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He did, in fact, know why he cared, now. He didn’t want to confront it, and he was acutely aware of it.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he parked in the lot next to his apartment building, he dropped his head to hit the top of his steering wheel, and he took a few moments to breathe. He felt silly, but everything going on gave him need for a pause, even as brief as a moment in a beat up parking space. His hand drifted to the note in his pocket, the bright little sticky, and he gently, almost reverently unfolded it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was surprised by what he saw. Messy handwriting. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Love.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And then, with a jolt, he realized it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> handwriting, albeit clumsy as hell. Must’ve been drunk, then. He didn’t like the implication of the writing. Or, he did. Did he? Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut, not caring if the bruise twinged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why the hell would he write that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He knew why.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slammed the car door shut and stormed inside the building. Upon stalking into his apartment he dashed to his bedroom, where he hastily flung open his bedside drawer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, an ebony feather. Now, next to that feather, laid an innocuous pink sticky note, folded and creased with a barely legible word written on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated the fact he kept the feather. Hated it. It was a constant reminder of-of something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> he didn’t want to think about. His behavior. His shitty personality. It was terrible how much could change in three months. Never stable. Always falling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A loud bang startled him. Stilling himself, he anxiously waited to hear what it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another one, followed by-- dear god.  A fucking moan. His neighbors had been blissfully quiet for quite some time, and he’d thought they’d moved out, too. Too good to be true, apparently. He slipped out of his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, and sat down, trying to drown the obscene sounds out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was faking it, anyway. No one sounded like that during sex, unless you were a porn star.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She released a particularly loud shout, something that sounded like a raptor playing the trumpet, and he bolted up, walked to their connected wall, and gave it a sharp few hits with his fist, trying to make some noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stopped, and the silence revealed that there had also been a bed squeaking, as well, but he hadn’t even noticed. Fucking nasty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pissed off, he shouted. “Shut the fuck up!” and gave it another strong whack for good measure. There were some murmurs, something that sounded like ‘fucking hell’, but it stopped, for the time being at least. Thank god.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slunk down back into the chair, and then, hating himself a little for it, walked back to the open drawer next to his bed and withdrew the feather. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he ran his fingers over it, around the sides of the vane and down the spine. He was still amazed at how it felt so real, like an actual feather, and not something manufactured in a lab. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He set it down in the drawer once again, and shut it slowly, swallowing thickly. This was weird of him. Creepy as hell, too. He put some physical distance between the items and himself, as if that would help quell the raging thoughts and feelings in his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened his phone, looking for some sort of distraction, and when that didn’t work, he tossed his phone onto his couch and sat on the floor. He didn’t want to preen. He didn’t have the energy for it. He eyed a pile of books in the corner, next to the sofa. He didn’t have a bookshelf, so the floor was the next best place. He reached over, and slid the one on top of the stack off. Pausing, though, he set it back on top and carefully pulled out the one on the bottom-- the big, heavy one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was. A robotics textbook. He’d never fucking taken a robotics class in his life. Thumbing open the cover, he froze when he saw the name neatly penciled into the inside corner of the cover-- Elijah Kamski. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He briefly had some sort of mini-crisis. How the fuck did he have one of Elijah’s old textbooks? Closing it, he turned it around, looking for some sort of clue as to why. Nothing really, but what did catch his eyes was the fact that the textbook was rather bloated, and opening it down the middle showed why. It was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>filled</span>
  </em>
  <span> with old sticky notes. Everywhere. Flipping through it revealed that nearly every page was covered, and the ones that weren’t still had notes in the margins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He peeled one off, noticing the fact the sticky left a little colored stain where it used to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Difference of gaussians vs. sobel kernel for edge detecting</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it read, followed by a bunch of technological jargon he couldn’t begin to decipher. He stuck it back and opened to a random page, pulling out another.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Segmentation w/ surface normals or point cloud/image data for grip??</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He read a little around it, trying to get some context for it, but it helped so little he was pretty sure he understood it less.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He checked the time. He had some time to spare, and he was bored. Bored enough to do this? Maybe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, he told himself. He’d read the dictionary right now if it’d get his mind off of things.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>lmao sobel kernel or whatever-- all those terms are genuine things from robotics.... probably in the wrong context but I didn't download the pdf for a robotics textbook for CONTEXT, just them fancy words. This is the last chapter before things really go.. fast, I guess. buckle in. :) thanks for all those that keep commenting and reading! Love to see it. Happy saturday, see you on Tuesday! :) </p><p>Next Up: The investigation continues at the Andronikov Mansion.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Mansion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor, Hank, and Gavin investigate the mansion with the help of a few FBI goons.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>ANDROIDS CALL FOR ACCESS TO FLYABLE WINGS</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Recently, there’s been an increasingly large number of androids and android-supporters calling for the development of a process to make flyable wings available for all androids. Some androids have flyable wings already, such as those used for police and military work, but a large majority of androids manufactured were done so without them. We asked head Cyberlife technician Theodore Pearson on the possibility of this. Pearson responded as follows:</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Androids flying? If they weren’t designed to? It’s unlikely. Managing to get the androids off the ground that were designed to do so was incredibly difficult, and not to mention absurdly expensive. You see, when we designed androids, say… the house assistant HK400, we don’t put the necessary structures on the skeletal system, nor do we give them the synthetic muscle capacity. When humans are born, they’re born with Avis muscles, right? And around the Manifestation those muscles attune to the unique needs of the wings the person is about to bear. Androids don’t have that, because they weren’t designed to. To get a non-flight android to a point where they could fly would be incredibly expensive, invasive, and potentially dangerous. I think we’re a long way from getting that ability to androids right now, unfortunately. You can’t just glue another set of arms on someone.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>---</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (7:55): Has Connor been having any issues with flight?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (7:55): Uh, no? I’ve never seen him fly, just take off. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (7:55): Has he been exhibiting any signs of instability? Motor issues? Anything unusual, really.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (7:56): What the fuck is this, 20 questions? I’m about to do something really important. Shut up.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (7:56): Alright. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Fuck you (7:57): Any OS crashes? AI retrograde?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>You (7:57): Read 7:57</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ticked off, Gavin closed his texts and shoved his phone into his pocket, examining the house he was parked in front of in the dimming dusk light. House probably wasn’t the right word. It was a mansion, really. Run down as shit, but still a mansion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had hoped that they’d be able to do this quietly, but some FBI nitwit brought the whole big-gun, shiny vested stripper squad, so the chances of them doing this without making a ruckus were slim to fucking none at this point. He idly watched some of said FBI goons loitering outside the very suspicious tinted window van they’d chosen to use as a transport. Idiots. Luckily, Gavin kept his own vest in his trunk, if things went south. Not that they would, because with this much hubbub the ‘droid they were there to investigate would see ‘em from a mile away and run, if they had half a brain cell. Or CPU. Whatever. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He checked the clock in his dashboard. 8:00. Taking a moment to make sure he had the essentials (badge, gun, handcuffs, etc.), he slipped out the driver side door and into the chill night air. It wasn’t quite night yet, but late enough to inject a sort of briskness into the atmosphere, causing his feathers to fluff some. He shut the door, a little hard. He had hoped for some sort of reaction from the FBI goon, but the guy just stood there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking to the back of his car, he tossed open the trunk and pulled out his vest. Truth be told, he hadn’t worn it in probably over two years, partially because he was lazy but also because the wing holes in the back were too large to sew shut. Turns out you can’t stitch kevlar, so that sucked. But now he had wings, which definitely didn’t suck, so who was he to complain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He finagled it on, feeling satisfied as the buckle clicked, and he gave his shoulders and wings an experimental roll. It fit nicely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that moment, Hank and Connor stepped out of their car, vests on too. Hank looked a little green at the gills, like his vest was too tight, and Gavin held back a snicker at his expression. His attention was soon taken by the sight of Connor in the police vest, ‘cause… whew. That’s a sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Since when did Connor get all gussied up?” He teased, gesturing to the android’s get-up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank huffed. “Just ‘cause he ain’t flesh and bone doesn’t mean it’s okay for him to get shot, Reed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin put his hands up in a surrendering motion, rolling his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s wings almost matched the dark coloring of his vest, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the way the orangey light reflected off the immaculate feathers, gently backlit by the geometric display tacked on the back of the DPD’s vest. His eyes were drawn to the little cloth stitching where their names went. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Detective Connor Anderson.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> With a jolt, he whipped his head to peer at Hank, who gave him an unimpressed stare, daring him to say something. He stayed silent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We ought to get started before the sun sets completely.” Connor said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They complied, and the three walked through the open, rusted gates and to the front door. Connor knocked, calling out that it was the DPD. Silence. They stood there for a moment before Connor raised his hand again, knuckles rapping on the old wooden door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scoffing, Gavin pushed down Connor’s hand when he moved to knock again. “We got a warrant, don’t we? Why are we fucking knocking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The FBI that was going in with them made an audible snort behind them. Gavin took that as a small victory, turning to him and pointing at the door. “Can we do anything about this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure can,” the guy said, slipping between the three. He gestured that they move back, and after they had, he lifted his leg and lined it up to some invisible point on the door, and in one swift movement, pulled his foot back and broke the door open with a kick. Gavin whistled, impressed, but almost started laughing when Connor muttered something along the lines of ‘I can do that, too,’. He good-naturedly shoved Connor a bit forward, before grabbing his gun and walking in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was dark inside. It was musty as hell, too-- a sign that it had been abandoned long enough for water to get in. Probably through the basement, he thought. Overall, the main part of the mansion was pretty standard for someone wealthy-- fancy lighting fixtures, intricate blue wallpaper. The only light illuminating the room was the light that filtered in from the loose curtains. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin pulled out his phone and turned the flashlight on, calling out. “DPD, anyone home?” He was met with silence, nothing but the shuffling of the people behind him. Shining the light at the wall, he spotted a yellowed light switch. He flicked it, expecting nothing to happen, but after a short moment some of the lamps and fixtures in the room flickered to life, bathing the space in a warm glow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ta-da,” he joked, mock-bowing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hank rolled his eyes and turned to Connor. “Can you tell if anyone’s home?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head, but otherwise stayed silent. Somewhat emboldened by the information that no one else was in the house, Gavin put his gun down and strided around, examining the art and architecture. It was fancy as shit, that’s for sure, but he had a very, very bad feeling that this fancy exterior was hiding something sinister inside. Feeling snoopy, he began to explore, turning a corner to find just some more living space, and a… taxidermy emu? Ostrich? Whatever it was, it gave him the creeps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the next room there were some sofas, which probably would’ve been quite nice had they been attended to in such musty weather. But alas-- they were now trash, as a quick poke to the seat proved that they were damp. A shame, he thought. He’d love to get rid of the lumpy sofa in his apartment. Not that he could take this one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other three followed him in, but Connor lingered by the door. “Gavin, would you like to check out the other floors with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure thing,” Gavin replied, stepping away from the furniture. He followed Connor as they ascended the huge staircase positioned in the middle of the main hallway. The upstairs floor branched off into rooms. They idly stood on the second floor, deliberating whether or not splitting up could help. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, uh, Connor </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anderson</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He prodded, curious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor looked at him kindly. “Yes. When I was to join the DPD as a citizen, I needed a last name.” He looked downwards, a little smile on his face. “I was going to put RK800, but Hank was kind enough to offer his last name, and I accepted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin tilted his head, rubbing the back of his neck absentmindedly. “So you’re, what, family?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pleased expression on his face, Connor nodded, very slightly. “I’d like to think so. Hank means a lot to me. I don’t think I’d be here without him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it means anything,” Gavin said. “I think the same applies to him.” And it was probably true, too. Without Hank, Connor probably would’ve remained a machine, and without Connor, Hank would probably be, well… dead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So they were familial, then. Not that it wasn’t already obvious-- anyone with one eye and some sort of common sense could parse it out from the other side of Michigan. Something about it was nice, at least to Gavin. Seeing Hank start to move on from the death of his son--not moving on, per se, because that's not something you move on from-- but at least starting to heal, or something. Or let himself heal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He quickly pushed that train of thought away, afraid it’d become… introspective. Instead, he pointed at one of the doors, to which Connor gave a curt nod. They’d start with this one, then. He pushed into the first one when he-- oh god, what the fuck?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” he breathed, taking in the scene. On a table, an android laid, deactivated, and pulled apart. Around it were several miscellaneous parts, an arm-- a leg. Something chunky. A face-- a fucking face? Gavin gagged, even though it wasn’t flesh and blood. It was clean, probably a result of Thirium drying clear. He glanced over at Connor, whose LED was spinning red and his eyes were wide in shock. “That explains the whole ‘experiment’ angle Ancaeus was getting at. Huh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor took a moment to respond, gaze breaking away after an internal struggle of some sort, and turned away from the gore, stiff. “There a lot of Thirium in here, and some signs of occupation in the last week. Let’s take a moment to see if there’s any sign of Oneiros.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Any sign of Oneiros? They didn’t even know the model of him, let alone how to look for his fingerprints or some shit. Nevertheless, he meandered around, opening drawers and inspecting their contents; mostly robotics junk. Mechanics and stuff, whatever. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turning, he watched Connor approach a large wardrobe, and carefully (see: not. He opened it like it was going to kick him or something) pried it open, jumping back when something large fell out. Several large somethings, actually, and feathery to boot. Connor yelped as he narrowly avoided getting toppled by them, and after successfully avoiding them waved Gavin over. “It’s been opened recently.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He toed one over, brows furrowed. “Wings.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Android wings.” Connor added, stooping down to inspect them. “They seem to mostly be from flyable models, which is interesting considering flyable models are far and few between.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin frowned. “They’re all white.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor gave him a puzzled look. “The RK series has the only flyable wings to not be manufactured white.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re kidding me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Connor looked at him kind of incredulously. “You’ve seen the flyable androids the DPD has do general police work, haven’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Just call me unobservant, will you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor snickered, but his face turned serious as he addressed the issue at hand. He pushed some of the feathers around the base of the wing away, revealing Thirium tubing and wires. “Some of the connection points on them have been altered. I don’t think it’s too far to say that they’ve been modified to fit an android where wings don’t typically go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, but why were there so many?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “What makes you think that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Connor began. “Fitting an android with flyable wings is a difficult process, and it isn’t a one-size fits all situation. You can’t outfit me, for example, with one of the police android’s wings. That being said, these wings have been modified to fit an android, and the mechanics inside suggest the same android, but two different spots.” He pulled over two wings, and showed him. They were slightly different sizes-- one smaller than the other, and the exposed wiring distinctly different between the two. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All these supposed to fit the same android? Why the fuck would someone want that many? You can really only use two at a time. Or, four I guess.” He crossed his arms, feeling a headache spurring on. “Unless you wanted to change ‘em out or something. Imagine that,” he barked out a laugh. “Modular androids.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor was suspiciously quiet at that. He stood up, and fixed Gavin with a serious gaze. “You might be right, Gavin.” His LED cycled a steady yellow. “In the case you are, that makes catching Oneiros harder than I’d thought. If he can change out his wings at will, then what’s stopping him from changing out other parts-- his face? His limbs?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Understanding Connor’s line of reasoning, he ran a hand down the side of his face, suddenly very, very tired. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A shout sounded from downstairs, muffled enough to suggest it was outside the building and the sound was filtering in from a broken window. It sounded like Hank, actually, surprised out his wits. Worried, the two raced down the staircase and navigated their way to the back door, which was open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck’s the issue?” Gavin groused, stepping outside. The sun had set, so the only thing illuminating the ground was the lights from the inside of the mansion, and the sky had begun to cloud over, hinting at a chance of rain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, shit, Reed.” Hank snarked. “Sorry if the fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>corpse</span>
  </em>
  <span> gave me a little of a surprise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes shot downwards to where--fuck, yeah he wasn’t joking. A rotting corpse. He averted sight to put the body out of his line of vision as his eyes started to water from the abrasive stench. It was old, judging by the level of rot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor was fast to tell them the news. “It’s Andronikov. He was killed with a shotgun shell, which appears to be a buckshot. The body’s months old. I’m surprised I can identify him without a sample. Any other evidence has likely weathered away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Small blessings,” Hank muttered, stepping away from the corpse. “I’m gonna call this in. If you need me I’ll be on the couch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin considered telling him that the sofa was damp and probably a little moldy, but thought against it. It didn’t seem like Hank would care.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dead Andronikov?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor nodded. “Very much so.” Addressing the FBI guy, he pointed down at the body. “Stay here while Hank calls the morgue. They’ll probably need some help loading him in the truck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some sort of satisfaction bubbled up in Gavin at the sight of his disgusted face. Before the guy could say anything, though, Connor had already turned on his heel and began to stride back into the mansion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without surprise, Hank had sat down on the couch uncaring of it’s questionable condition, and was talking exasperatedly on the phone. When Connor tried to talk to him, Hank waved him off and continued talking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not really enjoying the blatant brushing off of Connor’s attention, Gavin tapped Connor on the shoulder and tilted his head in the direction of the stairs. “Think there’s a basement?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There is,” Connor said, clearly wanting to get something done. “We should see if there’s anything of use while we wait for the morgue to settle the corpse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Entering the basement felt like some Cask of Amontillado bullshit. (He thanked his freshman year English class for that one). The nice wallpaper peeled back to reveal bricks and mortar, and a bare cement floor. It didn’t help that a fat portion of the room looked like some sort of horse stable, or something, and that some of the bars were wrenched apart. Not to mention there was a very thin layer of water on the ground-- not enough to get his feet wet but enough to be careful in. That confirmed his suspicions on the musty scent everywhere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hand on his gun, Gavin stepped into the shadowy cell, his phone’s flashlight held like it’d be more effective than his firearm. There was nothing in the cell, thank god, but the walls-- the fucking walls were </span>
  <em>
    <span>covered</span>
  </em>
  <span> in little tick marks, in neat groups of five. Not an inch of the brick was unscathed. He took a moment to try and guess the number of ticks there were. Thousands, probably. Days upon days upon days upon weeks upon </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> were chronicled on the walls of this cell, painting a macabre picture of agony. It’d make anyone go insane.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He exited from the cell, shaken, and regrouped with Connor who had approached a dirty sheet hung on the ceiling. Apprehensively, Connor pulled it apart, likely expecting another gory display. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sheet pulled back to reveal some freaky piece of tech, with arms and shit. Connor didn’t seem to think it was much of a threat though, as his shoulders and wings relaxed and he entered the space, examining the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room housed computers, workbenches, tools, and whatever that fucking arm-y thing was in the middle and he felt a shudder go down his back, considerably creeped out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is this shit?” he asked, his curiosity killing him on the inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor paused in his investigation. “It’s an android assembly station. It does simple repairs, and is the primary way to access an android’s systems. This one’s severely damaged, so there’s no need to worry about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head, he examined Connor with an air of disbelief. “So what, you got a USB port or something and they just… stick you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eyes soft, Connor turned away from Gavin, bringing his hand to the nape of his neck and pressing </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because soon enough a fucking panel was opening under his hand, exposing some sort of port and blue wiring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“O-kay then,” Gavin said, slightly weirded out and slightly intrigued. He decided to drop the topic and stay silent, as the panel slid shut and Connor turned to face him again. Their eyes met briefly before they turned back to their respective sides of the space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The workbench was full of a whole lotta nothing, to be honest. There was a computer terminal that didn’t turn on, and a quick rotation proved it had been cannibalized for some electronic components, not that he knew which ones. Some loose wiring, a tool, nothing. Nada. Nothing he would be able to get an idea from, at least. If there had been something of use on the workbench it was long gone, probably with the bits and parts of the computer. It didn’t seem like Connor was having any luck, either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chanced one last look at the machine when something caught his eye. A shoebox, right at the base of the machine’s platform. It was unassuming, old, and not large enough to have caught his attention sooner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Con, come take a look at this.” He said, kneeling down to give it a peek. Connor came to kneel next to him, equally as intrigued, and their wings brushed against one another, causing Gavin to choke back a sharp inhale. It was amazing how skittish he could be, even now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He set his hand on the unassuming lid, and applying a gentle grip, slid the top off. He quickly pulled the lid back the second it detached from the box, and peered inside, expecting something groundbreaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was empty, and Gavin felt very, very foolish. He set the lid down next to the box, turned to Connor, and shrugged. “Can’t get ‘em every time, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, Gavin, look.” Connor said, rushed, snatching the lid. He took it, and then flipped it over, revealing a small piece of paper taped to the inside. Gavin frowned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor carefully peeled the tape off the paper, and then between two fingers, held the folded paper out to Gavin, who took it, suddenly nervous. The paper was lined, from a notebook, and perfectly ripped out, it seems; the perforations on the side hadn’t been ripped through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oddly enough, the air felt very thin all of the sudden, like he had suddenly teleported to the top of a mountain where there was less oxygen as he thumbed open the paper’s folds, Connor viewing the transgression intently. Gavin could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and dread’s cold dagger pressed against his stomach, something screaming at him </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong wrong wrong wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Two more unfolds revealed the whole paper, folds sectioning it off in immaculate rectangles. On it-- written in clean, Cyberlife Sans:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Got you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then-- right as he lowered the paper to ask Connor about it -- a quiet </span>
  <em>
    <span>tick, tick, tick</span>
  </em>
  <span>, almost inaudible in volume but absolutely thunderous to them sounded from somewhere. He couldn’t pinpoint from where, exactly, because it sounded like it was in the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>walls</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s brown eyes widened as he picked up the box to expose wiring, and some sort of circuit glued on the bottom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck is going on?” Gavin said, heart pounding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor tossed the box to the side and looked around, frantically searching for something Gavin didn’t understand. He was still floundering at what the fucking note meant, let alone the sound’s origin. Jumping to one of the walls, Connor tapped a few bricks and pulled one loose-- behind it, a small electronic device that Connor tore out and swiftly pulled apart. <br/></span>
</p>
<p>The ticking quieted-- but that gave way to the sound of dozens of other muffled, <em>tick tick tick</em>s. </p>
<p>
  <span>“Get down!” Connor shouted, desperate, and Gavin knew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ground shook something terrible, an otherworldly roar and spit jolted Gavin to attention as a deafening boom resounded from above them. Dust showered down from the concrete ceiling, and Gavin turned to Connor, mortification turning his limbs to stone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then another, and another, and soon, while concrete dust was raining down in an ashy storm, before Gavin could even get a chance to catch up, Connor tackled the both of them to the dank floor in a blur of feathers. Gavin barely had the time to cover his ears and Connor to extend his wings in a hasty shield when another, and another, and finally-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>next to them</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a flash of light ignited Gavin’s vision and everything around him turned into an inky blue black.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't usually leave things off in cliffhangers but I had to break up this chapter somehow.... and that was one of the best places to before it got too long. Next chapter will be up Saturday and it's a long one.</p>
<p>Thanks for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this and the next chapter, and I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for sticking with this fic-- see you Saturday! :) &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Hurt and Help</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Getting stuck in a burning basement really is the last thing Gavin thought he'd have to deal with.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Something was ringing. No, wait- nothing was ringing. Despite being able to cover his ears, the blast had been so concussive it hadn’t mattered much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blearily opened his eyes, sucking in a breath and immediately choking it back out when the smoky air kicked his windpipe. He brought his shirt to cover his mouth, as if it would help, and then dazedly reviewed his surroundings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sterile light the overhead fixtures had washed the room in were blown out-- now, small piles of flaming rubble flickered and danced in his periphery. The assembly machine had been destroyed in the blast, pieces of it skewered through the floor. Gavin quickly patted himself down-- nothing but bruises and dust, thank god, and maybe a split in his forehead telling by the dark liquid dripping into his eye. He squinted, trying to peer through the thick air, and he spotted him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit, Connor!” He rasped, crawling over on his knees, hands sloshing through a watery ash paste. He fumbled his hands on Connor’s jacket, now torn, and after a quick wipe on his jeans he maneuvered Connor’s limp form face-up on his lap. Connor was grimy, covered in soot and dust, the right side of his face drenched in blue blood, and the absence of synth skin on that side revealed the wound-- a gash stretching from his ear, through the dip of his temple and to his hairline. Internally, Gavin was relieved. Barring some sort of concussion, forehead wounds weren’t that bad-- they just bled a lot. Something still nagged at him though, but he paid it no mind in favor of gently shaking Connor, tapping his collarbone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You fuckin’ idiot,” He grumbled, the smoke making tears sting at his eyes. He blinked them away, trying to keep his vision clear and he propped up Connor’s head with his hand, not caring if blue blood wet his hand. They had to get out of here-- Gavin would carry Connor if he had to, but he didn’t know if he was hurt anywhere else so moving him could be dangerous. “C’mon, Con.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air was thin, for real this time, not just his imagination. There was very little flammable material in the basement, except the sheet and some miscellaneous items, which was a blessing. There wasn’t much fire encroaching on them at that exact moment, but if Gavin had to guess the intricate wooden framing of the house would be a fire’s best friend, and he didn’t want to be stuck in the basement when it would inevitably collapse. Normal fires moved fairly slowly, taking their time to consume what it could, but the fact that this fire had been caused by an explosive opened up the opportunity of chemical accelerants, which would mean a million ways to die just became readily available. Needless to say, he didn’t want to die today. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gave Connor a few good flicks to his cheek, and fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Connor’s eyes fluttered open, glassy. Gavin let out the lungful of air he was holding, relief flooding his body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor blinked once, twice, and then croaked out, “Gavin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin nodded, a smile breaking out on his face. He grabbed his shirt with his free hand, and brought it over his mouth to take a few deep breaths. “I’m here. You okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The android didn’t reply, the blank look on his face morphing into one of sheer terror. In a flash, Connor was flailing, arms and wings reaching out to try and get a grip on the floor. Shocked, Gavin stuck an arm out and gripped one of Connor’s outreached hands, trying to get him to calm down or at least slow down. “What’s wrong?” He asked, heart pounding. “What’s wrong?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A cry wrenched itself from Connor’s throat. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hank!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Hank had been upstairs when the explosions went off, hadn’t he? His stomach dropped like a stone, and he let go of Connor’s wrist. Both of them stumbled to their feet and bolted for the basement exit. Water and ash caked their shoes and Gavin had to be careful as to not slip and fall, the silty substance being almost like wet clay in consistency. They rounded the corner and froze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rubble-- wood, glass, even some stone barricaded the opening, a hauntingly placed monster of scrap, and Gavin just stood there, feeling like a fly in the face of a tornado. Fire licked at the walls, and smoke clouded his vision. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor was fast on the pile, hands clenching around charred pieces of woods and trying to rip them away, to unblock the stairs and get to Hank. Gavin lunged forward, and joined him in the endeavor, prying a rather large piece of concrete from the base, hoping that it would unbalance the whole structure. It tumbled down the stairs, landing at the bottom with a crash that could barely be heard over the blood rushing in his ears. The pile didn’t move, and he was about to get back to pulling when he got a headrush, and he lurched backwards, falling a few steps before twisting around and landing on his butt on the stairs. His chest heaved as his vision filled with indeterminate shapes and colors, and his muscles wouldn’t comply with his demands and instead ached and burned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gavin?” Connor called out, breaking from his reckless attack. His eyes were wide, wild, as he scanned him, and his face betrayed some sort of emotional agony as he glanced at the pile, and then at Gavin, breathing hard. He darted to Gavin’s side, and put a hand on his back, trying to get him to sit up straight. Gavin breathed fast and shallow, but tried to comply with Connor’s movements anyways, even as his head fuzzed up like cotton. “You’re suffering from oxygen deprivation. Keep breathing at a steady pace, Gavin. I’m going to try and dislodge the parts of the rubble to make a hole.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin nodded, leaning his head on the stone wall, blinking away the blood in his eye. He felt useless, that he couldn’t help Connor and he was stuck gasping for breath as the house fire burned all the oxygen out of the confined space. It was hot, he realized, like, stupidly hot. He felt sweat run down his back. Had he been dazed by the blast or knocked fucking unconscious? Because it seemed that for the fire to spread this quickly he had to have been knocked out for shit or… maybe his accelerant idea held some water. Whoever set up that note had also set up an elaborate trap with the intention to kill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grit his teeth, chest tight. They’d all assumed that the android would flee if the knowledge that the police were coming had gotten to him. Instead, they’d been played like fucking fiddles and they guy had trapped the house to hell. If only it hadn’t taken the government shitheads a fucking week and a half to approve them, then maybe they’d been able to beat the droid to it, but… fuck. This was miserable. His head pounded and he felt like he was going to melt onto the floor. He couldn’t see Connor from his angle on the wall, but he could barely hear the sounds on him working at the rubble over the crackling of fire and his own heartbeat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor made a frustrated sound, and then ceased his efforts. “It’s too heavy-- too much, I--” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coughing, Gavin slumped forward, dead tired. Connor rushed to his side, hand back on his spine, worried and frantic. Gavin groaned, lightheaded as shit, and then wobbly started to push himself up from the stairs. He wheezed, feeling like every muscle was screaming at him to stop. His own head was too heavy for his neck, so it lolled to the side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can… I help at all?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor shook his head, eyes wide. “No, Gavin, you can barely breathe let alone move--” he stopped for a second, and Gavin took the brief moment of hazy quiet to appreciate the way the now on-fire ceiling cast an orange glow on Connor-- his now discarded jacket and vest giving way to a scuffed white shirt. White looked good on him, he thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have an idea,” Connor said. Without any confirmation from Gavin (not that he’d be able to), Connor put an arm around Gavin’s shoulder then put it under his armpit. Noticing the hold Connor was going for, Gavin sluggishly tried to bring his own arm to put around the back of Connor’s neck. With a heave, Connor picked him up like he weighed almost nothing and sat him down at the top of the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor made quick work of whatever shit he was setting up. He grabbed one of the boards he’d pried from the pile, a banister of some sort, and wedged it under a hunk of concrete at the pile’s base, so that one end was under a divot in the concrete, and the other was hanging off the edge of the stairs. Then grabbing another plank, he wedged it on the side of the rock and gave it a little pull. The boulder didn’t budge, but Gavin understood the plan. Connor returned to his side and hauled him over to the board on the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor looked him dead in the eyes, his own brown ones glistening with worry and stress, and he sat him down on the side of the board, a counterweight to try and dislodge the boulder while Connor tried to do the same from another point with another board. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched almost limply as Connor pulled, and pulled, and pulled on the board, exertion clear on his face. He flapped his wings to try and increase the strength of his efforts, but when he did that he was effectively fanning the fire around them. His face was flushed blue, but in such warm lighting it could’ve been red for all Gavin could tell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boulder didn’t budge. Connor shouted, desperate as he tried to gain more leverage by pushing down on it. This wasn’t going to work, Gavin realized. He wasn’t heavy enough to move the boulder from the bottom, and without that help Connor would be as ineffectual as earlier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His head was fuzzy, and his limbs heavy, but somehow, from somewhere, Gavin flopped his hands to the sides of him, and found the strength to set his palms on the step he was suspended above and lift himself up, just by an inch, or maybe a centimeter it didn’t matter, and timing it just right with one of Connor’s pushes, dropped himself down, a dead weight working with gravity to try and get just </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> much more leverage on the boulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It shifted. Connor stopped, and then resumed his scrabbling and pushing with increased enthusiasm. Gavin wasn’t as enthusiastic. His vision faded to black, then faded back into sight, and then to black again. He heard something move, and then felt a whoosh of air as the concrete chunk tumbled down the stairs and fell to the bottom with a resounding boom. Gavin couldn’t comprehend what had happened, nor could he move to investigate. He was gasping for breath, the effort to push himself off the plank being massive and draining. His vision continued to fade in and out, even as he felt Connor haul him over his shoulder, which knocked what little breath he had right out of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything was blurry, but Gavin could tell one thing when he could see-- the house was wrecked to shit, and blazing like the world’s largest bonfire. The explosives had opened up the entire roof, and the night sky washed the fire with an icy stare. Connor jolted, likely jumping over a hole or gap in the floor, and the next thing he knew Gavin was being laid on the concrete with a hand loosely supporting his neck. He gasped for air, hacking and choking when his abused lungs protested to it, even if the air he was breathing now had oxygen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>People swarmed around him. He could see that Connor was still looking around frantically for Hank through all the buzz and bustle, but stayed at Gavin’s side nonetheless. His head cleared, slowly, as the air outside revitalized his cloudy thoughts. His muscles still were weak, but he found the strength in him to grab Connor’s arm and rub a thumb over the white (now charred grey) button up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sirens wailed, approaching the scene. Ambulances, fire trucks, backup cops, the whole menagerie was showing up, and Gavin choked out a laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t sound like a laugh, really, and Gavin struggled to sit up but did so eventually, Connor’s hand falling from his neck. After a few more breaths of fresh air, he stumbled to his knees, then to his feet, then pushed himself up, wobbly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He got a good, clear sight of the carnage, then, and he had to consciously close his jaw. He staggered backwards, barely catching himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was obliterated. The roof was gone, as he suspected, but so was the second floor-- completely gone-- and an astonishingly massive piece of the first. The explosives had been very thorough-- they’d be getting nothing more from the Andronikov Mansion, and it had nearly killed them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wait-- killed them-- where the fuck was Hank? Connor hadn’t left his side yet, but that didn’t mean anything for Hank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor caught on to his thought process and began searching, too, eyebrows drawn up and tight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Has anyone seen Hank?” Connor called out, pacing toward a group of EMTs. “He--he was inside the building when the explosives went off-- have you seen him?” he was starting to breathe hard, now, the situation catching up with him. Gavin stumbled after him as he approached a group of firemen and asked the same thing, to no avail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor began to move too fast for Gavin to keep up, so he came to a stop right in front of the busted gate, and watched as the firemen delved into the blaze to search for anyone else-- Hank or the FBI agent he’d been with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a frigid few minutes, as he waited with bated breath for anyone to emerge from the mansion. It was like waiting outside a hospital room while a family member was under the knife-- sobering, stiff, and scary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” he heard Connor plead, “You have to have seen him! He was inside when the explosives went off-- but--but he was close to an exit!” Something inside him twisted, painful, and he found himself walking to Connor and laying a hand on his shoulder, trying to ground Connor as he grew more and more panicked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor whipped around to face him, eyes wild and wings posed ready for flight. The blue blood still covered the side of his face, not having yet dried and painting the android as some sort of feral dog. His eyes were filled with pain-- what used to be kind and fond now turned wide and scared. Gavin was about to pull him into an embrace when someone rounded the corner of the house, waving frantically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the FBI agent Hank was with, ashy but otherwise unscathed. “Guys! I need some help back there--” before he finished, though, Connor broke off into a sprint and was tracing the way the agent had come. After a few, long strides, Connor took off with scary speed and dashed through the air faster than Gavin’s eyes could keep up. Several EMTs flew after him, some with heavier loads traveling in foot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could feel the blaze of the house as they jogged around the side, as the siding had started to burn as well. Gavin came to a grinding halt upon turning the corner, and it felt like he was in the basement all over again. As the paramedics rushed past him, he jostled himself out of his stupor and approached Hank’s still form, giving them space to help him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor was kneeled next to Hank’s unmoving body, holding a makeshift tourniquet at the base of his thigh. The tourniquet was cutting off blood supply to the leg, and by extension the jagged piece of wood stuck right through it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He brought a hand over his mouth, appalled. Connor was white-faced, horror-stricken as he watched Hank bleed out, the only thing keeping him alive being his own tie twisted tightly above the wound. Hank wasn’t moving, but from his line of sight he could see him breathing, albeit scarily slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The EMTs had to pry Connor away from Hank, and Gavin was quick to his side, resting a hand on the center of his back as he watched them apply gauze around the wound, quickly replace them after they soaked through, red, and then load him up onto a stretcher, leg elevated as to not jostle the shrapnel. Connor brought a hand to grip Gavin’s sleeve in a death grip, shaking, and then tugged them both to follow. Not wanting to expose Connor to more pain and suffering, he hesitated, but after another wordless tug he conceded, and they followed Hank to the ambulance, Connor’s eyes never leaving Hank’s leg.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They carefully loaded Hank on, shouting about blood loss and things he didn’t understand. Letting go of Gavin, Connor moved forward, putting his foot on the step to join Hank in the ambulance, but the woman in the back was fast to put her hand on Connor’s chest and restrict his entrance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Family </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said, disregarding Connor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor stuttered, and moved forward to step in again. “We have the same last name,” he breathed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leveled Connor with a stare, and putting her hand on his chest again, she forced him off the step, saying, “You’re an android,” as if it explained everything, and then shut the ambulance door in Connor’s face. Silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking bitch!” Gavin seethed, voice raspy but no less pissed because of it. He stomped over next to Connor, but before he could continue his tirade, Connor spoke, cutting him off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should check with the other EMTs and then head home, Detective.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin’s anger evaporated off of him like water on hot asphalt. Connor’s voice was quiet, but high pitched, like he was trying very hard not to break down. His eyes stayed trained on the ambulance wailing off in the distance, unblinking and wide, one tinted blue due to the blue blood likely seeping in from his head wound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about you, Con? You’re hurt,” he murmured, hand reaching up to brush the skin on Connor’s cheek. The android’s hand shot out, stopping his hand millimeters away from his face in a tight grip, then brought it down and released it at his side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor didn’t take his eyes off the distance. “It’s superficial. I will be fine. Go home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, but… if you need anything,” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll be here.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, minutely, and with that Gavin turned to the second set of EMT’s and waved off most of their questions, only accepting some disinfectant towards a burn on his arm and a t-bandage for the split in his forehead. They tried putting an oxygen mask on him, claiming that spending that much time with that much smoke was dangerous for his lungs, but he denied that, too. He didn’t have asthma or anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chanced a look at Connor, who still stood stiff as a board on the side of the street, watching something Gavin couldn’t see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He collapsed onto his sofa, wrung out emotionally and physically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought he was going to fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then, and by some miracle he and Connor hadn’t burned to death in that basement. The experience was foggy, likely due to the oxygen not quite getting to his brain as much as it’s supposed to, but he vividly remembered the moment the explosives started going off, and the moments after he’d recovered from the blast to find Connor knocked out on the floor next to him along with the terror in Connor’s eyes. It hurt to see him like that, usually so confident and kind, reduced to fear and desperation in the blink of an eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His lungs wouldn’t let him breathe all the way in, and he wondered briefly if he’d just smoked a lifetime’s worth of cigarettes in one short stint. It felt like it, as he choked on every other goddamned breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stank like smoke. The smell clogged his nostrils and made him want to gag, the cloying scent occasionally overpowering his other senses. Fed up, he peeled off his vest and tossed it on the table, followed by his jacket, shirt, pants, and socks until he was standing in his underwear in the middle of his kitchen. He fled to the bathroom where he removed that, too and stepped into the shower, turning it on and relishing the freezing cold water it pumped out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made his teeth chatter and his muscles quiver, but he kept it cold, not wanting to deal with anymore heat like the fire licking at his toes in the dank basement. The ashy, dusty, clay substance that had been on the floor when the soot mixed with the water washed down the drain as he scrubbed his hands and forearms free of it, and then his ankles and feet, too. The bloody handprint on his wrist gave him pause, but he scrubbed it off, too, not wanting to think about it too much. He continued to scrub the ash and soot out of his hair and skin before he even considered using soap. By ridding his body of the remnants of the basement, he hoped that his lightly scented bar of soap would be enough to cover up just the scent, and not have to deal with the ash, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water stung the gash on his forehead, but he paid it no mind as he methodically lathered up, rinsed off, and repeated a few times for good measure. He moved to his hair, which he lathered with his liquid shampoo, and then followed the same process he did with his body-- lather, rinse, repeat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His wings were a whole ‘nother matter, one that he didn’t want to confront quite yet. He took the soap he’d bought for them and hastily rinsed off whatever he could get out of them, trying not to look too hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the shower no longer smelled like a bonfire and more like whatever bullshit scent his soaps were, he turned the water off and stepped out, dripping and nearly shivering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabbed his towel and toweled himself down, rubbing it over his hair to try and pick up some of the cold water, and then when satisfied with that, he hung it back up and stepped out of the bathroom and into his bedroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rummaged through his clothes, landing on a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants that he hadn’t worn in so long that they smelled like a different laundry detergent. Perfect-- hopefully the smell would kick over the smoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slipping them on, he walked back into the kitchen, hamper in hand, and he tossed his clothes in at arm’s length and then tossed the hamper into a dark corner in his apartment so he wouldn’t deal with it until he did his laundry. When he finished, he sank back down into the couch, thankful that it hadn’t picked up the smoke scent and turned on the TV, not sure and not caring of what time it was, only wanting to escape the night and leave it behind him for the time being. He flipped to a modern movie-- something more CGI than real, and let himself get lost in it for a time, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and pushing aside the robotics textbook he’d left there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yeah, he’d read the textbook. Some of it, at least. Most of it was batshit insane crazy-people talk, even with Elijah’s little notes permeating every page. Gavin wasn’t stupid, but god damn if that didn’t make him feel like it. He kept the book on his coffee table anyways, in case he wanted to pick it back up again (probably not, but he’d rather choke than admit defeat.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The movie was boring as hell, no doubt about it, and he considered changing the channel or at least turning off the TV maybe about 40 times, but he didn’t want to confront the fact his wings were totally fucked up, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked up</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feathers were not fireproof, surprise surprise, and the high heat mixed with the slow moving fire had scorched his wings. He knew feathers grew back, but he didn’t know where to even start to preen. Should he pluck them? They hadn’t fallen out, but how does one safely pluck their own feathers, anyways? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would have to find out, eventually, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to stand the itchy, pokey feeling of the scorched feathers, where there were fewer bristles attached to the spine— just a spine, even, in some places. It was awful. Awfully painful, and awfully ugly to boot. The sharp, now uncovered ends of some of the feathers poked and prodded his own skin uncomfortably, and he found himself always shifting to remove some of the pressure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Letting out a frustrated grunt, he sat up and slowly extended his wing, hating how the feathers caught on one another, then reached out and thumbed at one of the more burnt ones at the top. He hissed as the feather stung when he moved it, and dropped his hand back down, gritting his teeth. He folded his wings back behind him, defeated and bitter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He considered asking someone-- Tina, maybe-- on how he could approach the situation, but a quick glance at the clock told him it was deep into the late hours of the night, and Tina would be asleep right now. She was nothing if not consistent, and he didn’t want to wake her up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor was probably not a good option. The look of devastation on his face when he’d left… it was haunting, to say the least. That, coupled with the fact that Hank was in the hospital and the EMT wouldn’t let him in the ambulance put Connor at the bottom of the list of people he’d go to. He didn’t want to disturb Connor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he’d be just dealing with it, then. Suck it up, and hope something happens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabbed his phone and turned it on-- and was met with the texts Elijah had sent him. No, he told himself. Not him. Not ever. They may have had similar wing types, like, stupid similar, but he’d faster chew glass than ask him for help. Even if it was a good idea. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a good idea, and if Elijah kept any of his sleeping habits from when they were younger he’d definitely still be up. His jaw clenched. Do it, he told himself, but he just shut if off and tossed it on the coffee table, next to Elijah’s textbook. He glared at the two objects, as if the vitriol in his stare would disintegrate them and he’d never have to think about his half-brother again. They unfortunately did not burst into flames like he’d hoped, just sat there, unmoving, unwavering against his mental onslaught. It’s fine, he thought. It’s okay. He’ll figure it out, even if he did for some fucking reason still have to show up at the station tomorrow. Probably for fucking paperwork.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He coughed, chest tight. Maybe he should have taken the oxygen mask the EMTs were trying to give him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After several minutes of quiet, minus the action movie on TV, a knock reverberated through the room. Gavin’s head shot up. He never got visitors. Tina had a key, so she wouldn’t even knock. Probably over-cautiously (cut him some slack, he almost died today), he shut the TV off and crept up to the door. He unlocked the deadbolt but kept the chain lock in place, and peeked through the gap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There stood Connor, still grimy from the fire, looking lost. He didn’t say anything, just stared at Gavin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Connor?” He said, confused, unlocking the chain. Connor’s face was still streaked with blue blood, but it looked like it had been partially wiped off or had started to dry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor visibly swallowed. “I,” his eyebrows drew together. “I… don’t think I can be alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wordlessly, Gavin opened the door and ushered Connor in. The android stood there, awkwardly looking around Gavin’s apartment, but his eyes shot to the floor when he caught Gavin looking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t mean to snoop,” Connor said, eyes down. “I’m sorry-- if you want me to leave I can--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Gavin interrupted, closing the door and stepping towards him. “It’s okay.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He led Connor to the kitchen table, where he pulled out one of two shitty chairs and got Connor to sit down on one of them, and then grabbed the other and placed it next to Connor and sat down, too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor reeked of smoke, and was still wearing his clothes from the incident, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he had come to Gavin’s apartment right away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I tried going home, to Hank's house, but I--” his fists clenched on his lap. “--couldn’t.” It was choked, and Gavin was quick to put his hand on his shoulder, and give him a little pat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, one thing at a time, okay?” He removed his hand from his shoulder, and showed Connor the soot that came off. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up? I got a shower, and probably some spare clothes that’d fit you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wide eyed, Connor nodded, and Gavin led him to the bathroom. “Let me get some clothes for you.” He said, and Connor blinked but moved to start the shower. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking for clothes was a little bit of an issue. Connor was taller than Gavin, so he’d probably just have to give him a pair of sweatpants and whatever large t-shirt he could find plus some socks, but he stopped when he passed the underwear. Do androids wear underwear? Sighing, he grabbed a pair from the back of the drawer, feeling like it’d be more embarrassing for Connor to have to ask for underwear than it’d be to just have Connor hand them back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Back in the bathroom, he set the clothes on the side of the sink. “I’ll, uh, be on the couch.” and he backed out of the bathroom, shutting the door before Connor could say anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stupid, stupid! Don’t shut the door on him like that, you idiot! Whatever, it wasn’t like he’d open it </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Connor was probably getting undressed. Blood rushed to his face. Oh. Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>naked</span>
  </em>
  <span> naked. In his apartment. Just a few paces away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He mentally kicked himself. Connor was stressed the fuck out, and it was definitely not the time to make advances or whatever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Apparently Connor had tried to go home, but the thought of Hank made it so difficult he went to Gavin’s instead. Something in him clenched at the thought that Gavin was Connor’s closest thing to a support system, when he could barely support himself, not to mention he was just a wreck like, all the time. He didn’t know how to preen his own damaged feathers, for fuck’s sake!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat himself down at the kitchen table again, resting his face in his hands and listening to the running water in the bathroom as Connor showered. He briefly wondered if androids even needed to shower, as they didn’t sweat or anything, but the environment around them was still dirty so it wouldn’t be too odd for an android to take a shower, he guessed. But did androids ever take showers when they weren’t deviant? Gavin couldn’t imagine letting a machine house assistant take a shower. It was like washing your TV. Yet, he didn’t have any qualms about Connor using his bathroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cleared his throat, and when that did nothing to ease the dry feeling he got a glass of water, drinking it as he waited for Connor to finish. His tap was shit, but with all the garbage he’s been dealing with it didn’t matter-- the only thing that did was that it was wet. The first few sips almost burned as they went down his throat, and he found himself coughing some of it back up. Taking smaller sips, he noticed they still burned but it was manageable, and soon, once the glass was half empty, the burning sensation subsided and he finished it quickly, refilling it and drinking the next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once satisfied, he turned whatever water was left in the glass over into the sink and set the glass on the side, confident he’d be back to drink some more later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bathroom door opened, but Connor didn’t step out. Instead, he stood under the doorframe clutching his dirty clothes in his arms, looking down. Getting up, Gavin walked to him and gently took the clothes from him and, as quickly as he could without startling Connor, sped to the Banishment Hamper and tossed them in, next to his. He hurried back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still standing in the doorway, Connor’s eyes flicked upwards at Gavin, unsure. After a moment, he stepped out, stiff as a board and sat back down at the kitchen table, and Gavin took a moment to appreciate how Connor looked in his shirt because </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot damn</span>
  </em>
  <span>, apparently he’d never seen Connor’s bare arms before and that was a travesty. His lean but muscular frame was accented nicely by the dark grey t-shirt that was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly</span>
  </em>
  <span> too small, but the pants fit fine so that was fine and dandy. He shook himself out of the train of thought and sat down to the right of Connor, who lowered his eyes but followed Gavin’s movement nonetheless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Connor said quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Putting his hand back on Connor’s back, Gavin replied, just as softly. “It’s the least I can do,” he ran his palm down Connor’s spine, in a soothing movement. “You saved my life, after all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In response, Connor’s head dipped low and Gavin saw his eyes screw shut. “I just..” he said, voice tight and struggling.  “I just wish I could’ve been there for Hank.” he brought his arms around himself, shaking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Gavin said. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Continuing to run his hand over Connor’s back, Connor shook his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, but I trust you and I feel like-- like I don’t talk about it then it’s going to eat me from the inside out,” He breathed, hands clenching at his own skin in a tight grip. A tinny sort of quality crept in his voice as he continued. “I don’t know if Hank’s going to be okay. We got to him just in time to s-staunch the bleeding-- but whenever I close my eyes--” he choked off, eyes squeezing shut. He took a shuddery breath in. “He just-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>bleeding out </span>
  </em>
  <span>and there’s nothing I can do-- about, about the bleeding, or the shrapnel, and--and I can’t even go to the hospital with him, I-I,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor turned his head to look at Gavin from the corner of his eye. Tears brimmed at his waterline, and when their eyes met, Connor let out a sob. “I can’t lose him</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched, jaw slack, as tears started to fall from Connor’s eyes. Face twisting, he choked out another sob and brought a hand to his mouth to cover it, seemingly caught off guard by his own reaction. His eyes screwed shut, tightly, as tears continued to make wet lines down his cheeks and his shoulders shook with every gasping breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin fumbled for a moment, feeling like this hadn’t really come out of nowhere but it was just as unexpected. He considered not saying anything, and just continuing to rub Connor’s back as he let it out, but something in him kicked him into gear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve stayed silent enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Removing his hand from Connor’s back, he slid off the chair to kneel directly in front of Connor. Grabbing both of Connor’s hands, one from his face and one from his side, he clasped them between his own, watching as the skin receded to plasteel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Gavin said, trying to get Connor’s attention. When Connor’s wide eyes met his, he continued, keeping a solid grip on Connor’s hands to ground him. “It’s going to be okay, Connor. It is. You said we got there right in time, right? You applied the tourniquet and everything. You did what you could, and you did it right.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rubbing a thumb over Connor’s knuckles, he continued. “That lady in the ambulance was a straight bitch, alright? You being an android has </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do with being Hank’s family.” He brought their hands up, closer to his face as he spoke. “I wasn’t lying when I said you mean as much to Hank as he means to you. Hank’s a hard-ass motherfucker, that’s for sure, and you saved him when you pulled him out his drunken stupor. He’d fight to the ends of the goddamned Earth for you, Connor, and I don’t think a little shrapnel is going to stop him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Staring, wide eyed, Connor swallowed and bit his lip. He inhaled a few, hiccupy breaths before removing one of his hands from Gavin’s and using it to wipe at his eyes, clearing some of the tears that had fallen, but when he’d wiped them off his face he looked helplessly at Gavin and then at his wet hand. Fondly, Gavin reached up, took Connor’s hand, and wiped it on the pants he was wearing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just water and salt, nothing to worry about.” Gavin said, smiling softly. He watched as Connor’s expression slowly relaxed into something more stable. It wasn’t a blank look, (thank god, that would’ve been worse) but it was something warm, kind. Even if Connor’s face was still flushed blue from his crying, and his face was wet, Gavin couldn’t help but think how beautiful Connor was in this moment, his deep brown eyes staring through Gavin’s walls and barricades and right at his deepest self. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin didn’t do this stuff for anyone, but, maybe he could make an exception for Connor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s hands were brought up, and very gently placed under Gavin’s jaw. With a little pressure, Connor tilted Gavin’s head up, eyes half lidded, and said, “Thank you, Gavin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Gavin said, bringing his own hand to Connor's on his jaw . “You mean a lot to me, too.” And he tilted his head in Connor’s palm, leaning into the touch, feeling Connor’s plasteel rub against his stubble and the minute movements in his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stayed like that, for a few minutes, for an hour, it didn’t matter-- all that mattered was Connor’s hand on his face, Connor’s eyes looking at him, Connor, Connor, Connor. He brought his own hand up, brought it to Connor’s jaw, and forced him to bend over a little bit. His head bowed, and Gavin gently pressed his lips to the crown of Connor’s head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once Gavin leaned back, Connor looked up, eyes wide. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Gavin said. “I was less drunk than I thought.” he shook his head. “Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright.” Connor smiled a little and shifted, tilting his head to the side a bit, when Gavin noticed what had struck him as odd when he found Connor unconscious in the basement. His breath left his body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your LED,” he murmured. Connor’s eyes widened and he turned that side of his head away, obscuring it from view. “No, no,” he said, quietly, “you don’t have to hide it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, Connor turned back, revealing the empty space on his temple. Where used to be a bright, spinning LED that illuminated the sides of Gavin’s car and blinked when he was happy was blank, smooth skin. Not even a divot to signify it was once there, just pale skin, smattered with a freckle like the rest of his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin reached out, not quite touching his temple. “The blast…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Knocked it off. Stray shrapnel.” Connor said, eyes downcast. Shit, that LED had meant a lot to Connor. It was a reminder of his identity, of who he was fundamentally. Gavin couldn’t imagine… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dropped his hand and laid it on Connor’s leg. “I’m so sorry,” He said, feeling like words couldn’t convey the odd mix of feelings he had at that moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A little smile crossed Connor’s face. “I did it to protect you from the explosives. I’d do it again, too.” He said, making Gavin blush like a sentimental fool. Connor really thought that much of him, huh?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, jeez,” Gavin laughed, a little flustered, setting his forehead down on Connor’s knee. “You really do know how to make a guy feel special.” He froze when he felt a hand rest on the back of his head, running through his hair. He felt Connor lean forward, and then felt a finger trace the spot where he’d bled when Blakes attacked him. It felt nice, and he didn’t lock up like he had the last time Connor paid attention to the wound. Gavin relaxed into the touch, wings tilting downward when a jabbing pain emanated from his wing, and he hissed in pain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s hand froze, likely thinking he’d hurt Gavin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, sorry, just the wings,” Gavin clarified, raising his head. Wait, why didn’t Connor’s wings look so fucked up? “Why didn’t your wings get damaged from the blast?” he asked, straightening up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Extending a wing a smidge, Connor exposed more inky blue feathers. “I was designed to be as sturdy as possible. My feathers are fireproof, and my wings can take dozens of magazines of bullets before their structure is compromised.” His feathers shined under Gavin’s overhead lamp, somehow beautiful even in such shitty lighting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a wonder you can get off the fucking ground, Con.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the wonders of technology.” he said, tucking his wing back behind him. “But, Gavin, your wings…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin barked out a sardonic laugh. “Look like shit? Yeah. We all can’t be fireproof.” He carefully extended one, exposing the scorched carnage with a wince. It looked about as good as it felt. His creamy feathers turned black in some places, the spines sticking out in awkward angles amongst other, more downy feathers pulled taut, or even laying loose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I…” Connor paused, swallowing. Gavin watched his adam’s apple bob. “Preen them for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hhholy shit, that was an offer. Preening someone else’s feathers was an absurdly intimate affair-- usually done by immediate family members and people romantically involved. It wasn’t a platonic thing, either. Tina wouldn’t ask him to preen her feathers unless he was literally her last choice and her own arms got chopped off, and even then she’d hesitate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least— that’s what he’d read.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Very slightly, he nodded, watching Connor’s eyes light up. Connor stood up, suddenly. “Do you have peroxide?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, under the sink.” Gavin said, standing up. “Can we move this to the couch?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The android was already digging around his cabinet when he responded, “Yes, but you’re going to need to sit on the floor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head and smiling, Gavin seated himself in front of the sofa, buzzing with some type of excitement. Connor was going to preen his wings. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Connor was going to preen his wings</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The subtext wasn’t lost on him, and Gavin was grateful for spending some time to read up on wing etiquette when he Manifested. The fact Connor offered was stupefying, and amazing, and crazy, and a bunch of other things Gavin couldn’t name, but he was interested to see what it was like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor emerged from the kitchen, holding his peroxide bottle and a bowl of water, with a clean dish towel strung over his shoulder. Setting the bowl down on the coffee table, next to the robotics textbook, Connor sat on the sofa, adjacent to Gavin, and settled down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t going to be very pleasant, for the most part, and I apologize for that,” Connor said behind him. “Just by looking I can tell there are some feathers I will need to pull, which may sting, but your wings otherwise shouldn’t be affected too much.” Connor tapped Gavin’s shoulder blade, signaling him to extend that wing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He complied, unfurling it to its full length, careful to not knock anything over. Waiting with bated breath, he shuddered when Connor ghosted his hand over the bone, straightening some of the smaller feathers as he did so. When Connor’s hand stopped at a point near the joint, and thumbed a group of small feathers, he braced himself. Gently, Connor positioned one of his hands around the area, forefinger and thumb in a ‘V’ shape, grabbed one of the feathers and yanked-- all one, smooth movement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin grunted. It stung, like getting flicked by something sharp. Connor maneuvered his wing onto his lap, trying to get a better work surface. He didn’t apologize, just set the feather he’d pulled on the coffee table, grabbed the rag and the peroxide, and gently dabbed at the area before gearing up to pull another. He did, this time two of the feathers in the area at once, and Gavin grit his teeth. Connor laid a hand on Gavin’s shoulder and squeezed gently as he set the feathers down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It continued like this for a while, Connor pulling feathers and intermittently pressing the wet rag to the areas where he plucked. The sensation was confusing, his body was telling him to relax because someone was attending to his wings with that weird </span>
  <em>
    <span>caumlin</span>
  </em>
  <span> response, but the pain jolted him out of the euphoric feeling every time. It was a little maddening. He would sink into the pleasant feeling of having someone else’s hands on his wing and then get body slammed out of it when the pain reached his brain, and the process repeated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor stopped, hands pausing on his wing. Tiredly, Gavin looked over his shoulder to see Connor looking at one of his flight feathers. Ah, shit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to need to pull a primary feather. It’s going to hurt quite a bit more than your other feathers and bleed, too. Please try to keep still.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin clasped the side of the coffee table in his fist, bracing himself. He felt Connor isolate the feather, nudging aside the ones next to it, and prod the skin, probably to check for the best spot to push down as he pulled. Giving the spine an experimental tug, he laid his hand down flat on Gavin’s wing, and after one, two, three tugs he ripped it out, and Gavin felt his knuckles crack and body jolt as he tried to keep still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quickly, Connor wet the rag and held it on the area he’d just plucked from, applying solid pressure as Gavin’s head fell back onto the couch, even if it did require his wing to bend at an odd angle. Connor looked down at him, raised an eyebrow, and then set the wet rag on his face. Gavin sputtered and flung it back, laughing. Catching it smoothly, Connor smiled and continued to dab at the area and pick up some of the blood that welled up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Setting the rag down, Connor set his hands on either side of himself on the couch, and scooted himself to Gavin’s other side. Hesitantly, Gavin pulled his wing back to him, astonished on how much better it felt, and then after feeling a tap on his shoulder, extended his right wing to lay on Connor’s lap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The android took a moment to just run his fingers through Gavin’s feathers, and Gavin sucked up the euphoria it induced greedily. He heard Connor huff, amused, and then he got to work on that wing, too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For some reason, it didn’t hurt as bad as his left wing, and it seemed to take a lot less time to fix up. He realized blearily that it was probably because this was the wing farthest away from the hot-ass brick wall he’d propped himself up against when he was fighting for breath in the basement stairwell. He winced when Connor pulled a feather, but enjoyed the relief the cold peroxide rag brought when he pressed it on the skin on his wing. Connor made quick work of finishing the wing, and when he pulled the rag away for the last time, Gavin tried to pull his wing away and thank Connor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, Connor gently held the top joint of his wing as he slid on the couch to sit directly behind Gavin, and with insurmountable tenderness grabbed the joint of his other wing, too and pulled them both back, laying them semi-extended on the sides of the couch. Gavin was about to ask what he was doing when a hand buried itself in the feathers of his left wing, and very, very slowly began to drag his fingers through them, straightening them with mechanical precision. Gavin shuddered, eyes closing and eyebrows drawing together as the sensation rolled through his back in a wave of undiluted bliss. Connor knew what he was doing, and he was going all in to boot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Swallowing thickly, Gavin leaned back, wings shifting a bit to accommodate him, and he laid his head on the inside of Connor’s thigh, closing his eyes as Connor methodically ran his hands through his feathers. He could hear Connor breathing in the small apartment, but nothing else existed at that moment other than the two of them, Gavin slowly closing his eyes as his head laid on Connor’s lap, and Connor slowly pulling him into unconsciousness with his two hands. Somewhere, in the background, he noticed that Connor was humming his somber little tune again, softly, liltingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He breathed in, out, in, out, as his eyelids slipped closed. A hand landed on his other wing and he sighed, blissed out beyond recognition, and the hand began to run through his feathers, also. He pushed his cheek into Connor’s leg, completely forgetting the world around him as he got comfortable, rubbing his face on the material of the sweatpants like some sort of cat. Connor’s leg shifted, but stayed as Gavin used it as a pillow. His head was fuzzy, but in a good way-- not like how it had been when he couldn’t breathe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as he was teetering on the precipice of sleep, of that warm inky dark, he barely felt Connor shift, and he barely felt something warm press to his temple, lingering for a moment and then gone the next. He slipped into the dark, breathing deep. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is a long one!!! ~8.5k, it's one of the longest ones. could I have broke it up a little more evenly? yes, absolutely, but I really liked the idea of having them get out of the basement and also the aftermath &amp; comfort and found it nice and happy fluffy nice time. consider it a gift (and an apology for the cliffhanger) ;-)</p>
<p>i was debating whether or not to allude to the comfort in the chapter description, but I didn't want to spoil it.... i wanted to keep the stakes up like, 'will they make it out? won't they?' i mean, OF COURSE they do, this fic is only around halfway published, but the tension.... idk</p>
<p>i like to think that the preening is so sensitive 'cause Gavin literally has never had anyone do it before, and also his wings are pretty much baby-new. also I wanted them to be happy with each other, and I couldn't have that if Gavin was in pain from the plucking </p>
<p>Chapters are probably going to be once a week now, 'cause the chapters get longer form here on out and if I uploaded twice a week it'd be too fast and too much. Thanks for reading! let me know what you think :) see you next saturday! :) &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Houseguests and Hospitals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gavin and Connor pay a visit to Hank, and reap the consequences for last night's fiasco.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He woke slowly, eyes blinking open against their own incredible weight. He ran his tongue over his teeth, swallowing, and then pushed himself into his pillow a little bit more. Sighing, he noted how fucking good he’d just slept. Like some sort of pseudo hibernation or some shit-- <em> that </em> good. His burns and bruises from the previous night barely hurt, and his whole body just kind of melted into his mattress. The mattress he slept on was probably the only borderline expensive thing he owned-- minus his phone. Hey, a man’s gotta sleep, and Gavin had trouble sleeping normally so he did what he could in other areas to help-- hence the mattress.</p>
<p>His eyes scrunched shut as he extended his wings all the way out behind him in a large stretch. They shook, feathers rustling against one another. You know, it was kind of odd his wings felt so good after getting scorched to hell and back-- he was super grateful for Connor’s offer---</p>
<p>Holy shit, that had actually happened, hadn’t it? His eyes snapped open, and he stilled, as if some great danger was coming to get him. </p>
<p>Last night really happened. Connor had… preened his wings. And he’d fucking fallen asleep. How had he ended up in bed? Did Connor fucking carry him?</p>
<p>He slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Light was filtering from the window, not much because of the adjacent building, but enough to illuminate the room and let Gavin see the hamper he’d chucked his and Connor’s clothes in. Connor’s dirty white button-up sat innocently on top, brushed brown and black from the dirt and soot. Eyeing it, Gavin pushed off the covers he was under and stood up, joints cracking. He reached his arms up above his head and groaned as the stretch popped his shoulder and pulled his back muscles taut, and tilted side to side to try and get his spine to crack, too. It did, and he stopped once his side twinged, dropping his arms and rolling his neck. It was kind of scary how not tense he was. </p>
<p>He padded to the door of his bedroom, and furrowed his brows because he never closed it at night, and it was shut firmly. Swinging it open, he inspected the hinge to see if it broke (which wouldn’t be a surprise) but came up with nothing. He shrugged and continued into his kitchen, where he was met with a thick wall of black feathers.</p>
<p>“<em> Jesus Christ </em>!” He shouted, staggering back. He got a mean sense of deja-vu to that first day with Connor in the precinct, where essentially the same thing had happened. </p>
<p>Connor turned around, eyes wide, and he shot out a hand to stabilize Gavin before he fell and ate shit. “I’m sorry, Gavin, I didn’t realize you were up yet.”</p>
<p>Sputtering, Gavin said, “You’re still here?”</p>
<p>“Am I not supposed to be?” </p>
<p>“Uh,” Gavin said, straightening up and rolling his shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s fine, I just didn’t expect you to stay.”</p>
<p>Visibly relaxing, Connor stepped back to reveal a brown paper bag sitting on the table. “I considered leaving, but I,” He swallowed, looking down. Oh yeah, Hank being in the hospital and everything. </p>
<p>Saving Connor from his train of thought, Gavin gestured towards the bag on the table. “What’s this?”</p>
<p>Lightening up, Connor opened the bag and set the contents down on the table. “After realizing your apartment was not stocked for breakfast, I took it upon myself to get you some.” He laid down a small something wrapped in paper, an apple, and some sort of pink smoothie next to it. Blinking, Gavin stepped forward and picked up whatever was wrapping in paper, and unfolding it revealed a breakfast sandwich on rye bread. “I noticed you brought breakfast sandwiches to work quite a few times, and figured a slightly healthier alternative couldn’t hurt.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t have to do this,” Gavin remarked, sitting down. Even if the gesture was way too nice, he wasn’t going to turn it down. </p>
<p>Connor seated himself in the other chair, folding his hands politely on the table as Gavin began to eat the sandwich. “It’s the least I could do, Gavin. I wanted to thank you for last night,” their eyes met, and Gavin swallowed his first bite of the sandwich as Connor spoke. “You helped immensely. Sorry if I got too emotional.”</p>
<p>Picking a crumb off the side of his mouth, Gavin frowned. “Don’t apologize. I’m… happy to be here. For you.” It was true, no matter how janky it sounded coming out of his mouth. “Does that happen, uh,” he considered his words, “often?”</p>
<p>“No,” Connor said factually. The factual tone bled into something more sheepish. “That actually is the first time I’ve gotten upset like that.”</p>
<p>Gavin stopped halfway to another bite of the sandwich. “You’re telling me that was your first time <em> crying </em>?”</p>
<p>“No,” Connor said, then backtracking. “Well, yes.” he looked over at Gavin, seeming to note how voraciously he was eating. “It’s not something that came naturally to me until last night, it seems.”</p>
<p>“It’s not something that you just <em> do </em>, Connor. Of course it wouldn’t come naturally.” He made a vague gesture with his hand, sandwich still being held. “It just happens, you know?”</p>
<p>“I guess.” Connor frowned. “Have you cried?”</p>
<p>Gavin barked out a laugh. “What kind of question is that? Of course I have. You’d be fuckin' pressed to find someone who hasn’t.”</p>
<p>Running a hand down the seam of the t-shirt he was still wearing (<em> Gavin’s </em>shirt, mind you,) Connor said, “I’ve seen you get teary before.” Gavin blushed. “But not cried.”</p>
<p> “I don’t cry often.”</p>
<p>“When have you, then?”</p>
<p>There was a beat before Gavin responded, as he weighed the benefits and consequences of telling him. He figured that he and Connor were close, enough for preening, so it'd be kinda dickish to deny him. “Well, uh, when I learned I wouldn’t Manifest. When I <em> did </em>Manifest, but that’s because I was happy.” He shrugged, landing on one time he had cried way in his past. He stopped for a moment. </p>
<p>“Funerals. Mom's.” he set it out, as if laying the phrase on the table to be judged. Connor just nodded, eyebrows unknitting themselves as he seemed to digest the information. Gavin didn't really talk about his mom often. </p>
<p>Instinctually, Gavin looked up to Connor’s temple for his LED, for some sort of gauge on his feelings. He was reminded with a jolt that no, Connor didn’t have it anymore because he’d shielded Gavin from the explosives. It was weird. Like, <em> really </em>weird. In normal clothes, no LED, and smiling gently, relaxed at his kitchen table-- well, fuck, he looked fucking human. Which, if Gavin had to be honest to himself, didn’t really matter at this point as he’d come to terms with Connor’s android-ness for the most part, but it was still an interesting observation to be made.</p>
<p>Suddenly, Connor’s eyes turned worried and he glanced down at himself. Fuck, he was staring and making him uncomfortable.</p>
<p>“Sorry, didn’t mean to stare,” Gavin said, averting his gaze back to his breakfast. “It wasn’t ‘cause you look bad,” he smacked himself. “Not that you <em> do </em>, you look uh, good actually.” Fuckin’ smooth, weirdo! Shaking his head, he picked up the smoothie and eyed it, pretending like he hadn’t just word-vomited. He heard Connor huff in amusement, but he gratefully stayed off the topic. </p>
<p>When Gavin checked for a label that didn’t exist, Connor piped up. “I think you’ll like it. It’s a fruit smoothie consisting of fruits I’ve seen you eat at work, so I figured you would enjoy it.” Gavin gave it a sniff, eyeing it peculiarly, and Connor took note. “You don’t have food allergies, do you?”</p>
<p>“Not unless you’ve put penicillin in it, then no.”</p>
<p>“I have reason to believe penicillin isn’t a food, Gavin.” Connor said, eyes twinkling with mirth.</p>
<p>Conceding to that logic, Gavin took a sip. He let the concoction sit on his tongue before swallowing it: fruity, but not too sweet. Probably had banana in it or something, not that Gavin was any sort of ‘smoothie connoisseur’, nor had he really had a smoothie in years, but it was good. </p>
<p>“Hey, this is pretty good, what’s in it?”</p>
<p>A sharp glint shined in Connor’s eye. “Fruit.”</p>
<p>Suddenly nervous, Gavin chuckled weakly. “And?”</p>
<p>“Some nutritious additives.” And he left it at that, making it clear it was not up for debate. </p>
<p>God, what if there was kale in this thing? What if Connor’s true goal was to hipster-fy Gavin? Move over flying lessons, it’s hipster lesson’s turn to shine. He shuddered. He’d rather saw his own leg off than turn into a fuckin’ hipster.</p>
<p>Checking the time, Gavin jumped. “Shit, we’re gonna be late.” He made a motion to move and get ready for the day, but Connor raised his hand in a placating motion.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, Gavin. I informed Captain Fowler we’d be coming in late today.” Connor said.</p>
<p>Sitting back down, Gavin sipped cautiously at the smoothie, confused. “What for?’</p>
<p>Connor bit his lip, which he seemed to be doing a lot lately. “I was,” he said, quietly, “Hoping we'd be able to stop at the hospital before we go to work. They’re accepting visitors.” Visibly swallowing, Connor locked eyes with him, his eyes giving off a pain he didn’t express otherwise. </p>
<p>Gavin nodded, understanding. He wanted to check up on Hank, too. He probably would be unconscious or drugged out of his mind, and that would probably be tough for Connor to see so Gavin wanted to be there to support him.</p>
<p>Again, Connor’s whole situation was just so-- fucking human. Real. Whatever. His usually perfectly styled hair was unkempt, almost wavy, and Gavin had the odd urge to run his hand through it, and explore how it felt. He pushed the feeling down. </p>
<p>“You need clothes? I can scrounge up something for you here.” Gavin offered. </p>
<p>Connor shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I would like to stop at Hank’s for clothes and Sumo-- I called the neighbors to have them let Sumo out, but he’s probably getting lonely.” Connor stood up as Gavin polished off the rest of his sandwich. “Where did you put our clothes, Gavin? I’d hate to make you keep them.”</p>
<p>Gavin waved a hand. “Eh, don’t worry about it. I’ll wash ‘em and get ‘em to you soon.”</p>
<p>Once Connor nodded, Gavin stood up and got dressed quickly, not wanting to keep Connor waiting. It was his usual stuff, jacket not included ‘cause it smelled like shit (washing that was going to be a pain), but overall pretty normal, which was the exact opposite of how he felt. He clipped his gun and all the other fixin’s to his belt and he and Connor were off, Gavin’s drink in hand. </p>
<p>They piled into Hank’s car, Connor driving. It was a peaceful drive once Connor turned the heavy metal radio channel to something more palatable.</p>
<p>Pulling into Hank’s driveway was a little bit of a funny experience in that it made Gavin feel a little funny. The closest he’d ever been to Hank’s house was from the street, that one time he’d dropped Connor off from their date-- no, lesson, he reminded himself. </p>
<p>Hank’s house wasn’t huge, but it was a house so it was more than Gavin had. It would comfortably fit a family of three, but those days were in the past-- now just two, being Connor and Hank himself, plus a dog so maybe that <em> was </em> a family of three in some odd way. </p>
<p>He had no intention of joining Connor inside until Connor motioned him to get out of the car once he’d gotten to the doorstep. He trudged his way up the concrete steps, feeling like he was massively intruding on Hank’s personal life just by entering his house. Fiddling with the car key chain, Connor isolated a key and twisted it in the lock, hearing a click followed by a dog barking excitedly.</p>
<p>A furry lump of an animal came bounding towards Connor once he pushed the door open, wiggling and panting with barely restrained joy. Gavin was forced to block the doorway and slip inside once Connor proceeded in order to keep the hulking dog from bolting outside, and he stood awkwardly inside at the front rug once he’d closed the door behind him. Sumo continued to happily pant and wag his tail in front of him.</p>
<p>Smiling, Connor said, “Give Sumo some love, Gavin. I’m sure he’d appreciate it. I’ll be right back.” and he disappeared into a hallway. </p>
<p>He bent over and gave Sumo some good rubs, and when Sumo flopped to the ground and rolled over, begrudgingly scratched his tummy, too.</p>
<p>The house was surprisingly well-furnished for a washed up Lieutenant who spent more time with alcohol than his job— with a nice looking sofa, chairs, and decoration that implied some sort of care or thought went into it. Hell-- it looked like the place had been dusted recently, but something told Gavin it wasn’t Hank who did it. A bookshelf, framed photos, some novelty knick-knacks. Despite the superficiality of the items, Gavin still felt like he was seeing stuff he wasn’t supposed to, and pulled his wings close to him, uncomfortable.</p>
<p>Sumo boofed, and Gavin realized that his hand had stilled. Sighing, he kneeled down to give the poor pup what it desired-- unadulterated belly rubs, to which Sumo received wholeheartedly. An amused huff escaped him, and he muttered a short something telling Sumo he was a good boy and continued to run his fingers through his fur. God, he had to shed something terrifying with all this fur. </p>
<p>Connor emerged from the hallway, looking refreshed. His hair retained its odd wavy-ness (which he figured happened because of Gavin’s shampoo, probably), but altogether he looked much more… Connor. Minus the blazer. For some reason Gavin had expected to own more than one blazer but maybe he was wrong. Or maybe Connor was just ditching the blazer altogether, not that Gavin was complaining.</p>
<p>Sumo was enjoying his belly rubs until Connor moved to refill his food bowl, in which he rolled over and padded to the bowl, waiting somewhat patiently for Connor to dump the cup of food in his dish. It was a domestic scene, and Gavin took notice of how the menial task seemed to settle Connor a bit while Hank wasn’t there.</p>
<p>Satisfied with his work, Connor turned to Gavin. “Let’s head out, shall we?”</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Gavin hated hospitals, probably for the same reason anyone else would hate a hospital, given they’ve experienced loss. They checked into the front desk without any fanfare, Connor holding a small stuffed bear he’d pulled mysteriously from the backseat of Hank’s car. He’d probably gotten it while he’d gotten breakfast for Gavin. The bear was a little bit silly, and it seemed like Connor recognized that but didn’t hide it because of the fact --there was no card, just a little stuffed brown bear with a bow around its neck with little beady eyes. </p>
<p>Connor paused outside of Hank’s room, saying. “They had to perform surgery to remove the shrapnel. Hank will not look good.” He stared blankly at the hospital room door.</p>
<p>It took Gavin a moment to realize he was speaking to himself, not to Gavin. Mirroring that time at Jericho, Gavin wordlessly stepped forward to stand next to Connor, but this time, very gently pressing their sides together. Connor didn’t look over, but Gavin felt some minute muscles relax. </p>
<p>They stepped in. Hank was lying unconscious on the bed, pallid as clam chowder soup and looking just about as healthy-- hooked up with IVs and tubes galore. Gavin’s mouth dried up and he swallowed thickly when the reality of the sight was briefly superimposed with an image of his mother. He’d been thinking about his mother a lot, ever since Connor asked him a question and he mentioned her in his answer.  He hated hospitals, and he’d say it a million times over even if the world told him to shut up.</p>
<p>Stiffly, Connor separated from him and set the little stuffed bear on the bedside table, next to a glass of water, and then sat himself down in one of the visitor chairs they kept in the room. Guessing that Connor would want some privacy, Gavin shut the door from the outside hallway, sealing themselves in with Hank.</p>
<p>“You were right, Gavin.” Connor said, out of the blue.</p>
<p>Leaning on the wall, Gavin blinked. “‘Bout what?”</p>
<p>Visibly schooling himself, Connor shifted slightly in his seat, looking intently at Hank’s form. “I did what I could, and Hank’s going to be okay because of it.” The words hung in the stuffy air of the hospital.</p>
<p>He nodded. Connor didn’t deserve to beat himself up over things he couldn’t control-- he should be proud that he did what he could. He didn’t actually know if Hank was going to be okay, but since he didn’t bleed out that night on the way to the hospital he guessed his prospects looked good enough for Connor to admit.</p>
<p>Clearing his throat, Connor began to speak. About anything, really-- Sumo, the car ride, the stuffed bear, even Gavin’s shirt (to which Gavin blushed). It was all spoken very levelly, almost restrained as if Connor didn’t want to get worked up like he had last night, not that Gavin wouldn’t be there for him this time, too. Connor’s face, every now and again, would betray a deeper emotion than the blank look he was letting show. When it did happen, Gavin would frown and shuffle closer to Connor.</p>
<p>It was a tough place to be, and Gavin wasn’t all that fond of Hank to begin with. It could have been some lingering feelings from his experience with older folks and hospitals, but Gavin completely understood Connor’s motivations for talking aimlessly without any goal or real oomph behind it. He was trying to fill the space Hank was leaving, some sort of verbal mortar in the gaping hole. </p>
<p>Hank’s face was unscathed, thankfully, and they also just as thankfully couldn’t see the mummy’s worth of bandages most likely wrapped around his thigh. His large, tawny wings were tucked securely behind him. Didn’t make him look any less of a statue, though. Gavin could probably go on for years about how terrible Hank looked-- didn’t mean he wanted to.</p>
<p>Suddenly standing like he’d sat on a thumbtack, Connor paced back to the bedside table, and minutely adjusted the bear he’d left, straightening an ear and turning it more towards Hank. Then, he sent a glance towards Gavin and tilted his head towards the door, and they exited.</p>
<p>Gavin was glad to be rid of the atmosphere. He’d always been somewhat bad at reading the mood or temperature of a room, but he’d have to be really fucking dumb to miss the fact that that room was straight up miserable. He was just thankful Hank wasn’t dead. </p>
<p>The ICU branch of the hospital was silent, all except the occasional smattering of conversation between visitors and nurses bustling along with their business, gently moving the stagnant air with it’s septic taste. They crossed a room with a considerable amount of hubbub coming from inside, and as they passed Gavin peeked in to see some sort of celebration taking place. A shiny decorative balloon told him it was a birthday. Imagine spending your birthday in a hospital, he thought, and then jolted. He laughed to himself. He himself actually spent his 16th birthday in a hospital, when he’d gotten sick at the tail-end of his Manifestation period and where the docs had told him he was unlikely to Manifest. God, that was terrible.</p>
<p>But enough about that. He was here for Connor, not to reminisce about the unfortunate happenings of his own childhood.</p>
<p>After a short elevator ride, he and Connor came to stop at a tidy receptionist’s desk with an android seated behind it. A solar powered bobblehead made tiny clicking noises as its grotesquely enormous head swayed from side to side in a plastic show of joy. He wanted to put his finger on it to stop it, to see if it would keep going or pinch his finger or something, but he held back-- it wasn’t his little trinket to touch.</p>
<p>Connor signed his name, Connor Anderson, on a pad of paper to say he was no longer visiting, in his perfect handwriting. Gavin hadn’t bothered to sign in, so he didn’t bother signing out either. The receptionist told them some pleasantry as they left.</p>
<p>Once they had gotten back into the car, and they were well on their way to the precinct, Connor spoke. </p>
<p>“Thank you for coming, Gavin.”</p>
<p>Gavin adjusted his seat, pulling it forward. “It’s nothing.” And he meant it, too. </p>
<p>Arriving at the precinct after such a traumatic event was a surreal experience. The station bustled on like normal, except there were a few feds milling around likely because of their involvement with the Oneiros case. </p>
<p>Fuck, they didn’t even get a moment to settle in before Fowler was shouting for their asses to be in his office. They shuffled inside, and Fowler pressed a button under his desk to tint the glass walls. That was unusual-- even when he was ripping someone a new one he kept it untinted, regardless of the precinct’s prying eyes.</p>
<p>Maybe he was really serious? Or maybe he just didn’t want to look at the FBI wandering around anymore-- either way, it was uncharacteristic.</p>
<p>“What the fuck?” Fowler said, plainly. “I told you one key thing, do you remember?”</p>
<p>Apparently it wasn’t a rhetorical question, because he paused for an answer. When he didn’t get one, he continued, apparently quoting himself. “I told you to not fuck it up.”</p>
<p>Gavin stepped forward, already pissed with this line of thoughts. “It wasn’t--”</p>
<p>“No, Reed, be quiet. For <em> once </em> .” Fowler levelled them with a deadly stare, taking no time in continuing his tirade. “What the fuck happened? Houses don’t just blow up, for god’s sake! This is one of the biggest goddamn messes I’ve ever seen, and now it’s plastered on every fucking newstation known to man.” He ran a hand over his face. “Hank’s in the hospital, for some reason a <em> mansion </em> exploded, and now the feds want to take the entirety of the case <em> ! </em> I’m going to ask it again,” he said, pointing a finger at them. “What. The fuck. Happened?”</p>
<p>It was silent in the wake of his spiel, and when Connor didn’t make a move to say anything, Gavin did.</p>
<p>He spoke evenly, making no room for misconception. “We went to investigate the mansion at the time we were told to, <em> sir </em>. We investigated according to procedure, found evidence along with a dead body, by the way, and when we moved to continue the investigation of the house we tripped an explosive trap, likely set by the asshole we were there to catch.” </p>
<p>With one raised eyebrow, Fowler didn’t respond verbally but his expression was confirmation of his disappointment enough. </p>
<p>Connor, unexpectedly, spoke up. “It’s likely Oneiros caught wind of our investigation due to it’s long confirmation period and trapped the house for when we would get there.”</p>
<p>“So what, this droid trapped the place instead of just running? How did he know we were going to be there?”</p>
<p>Gavin relaxed at the change in tone-- it would be easier on the both of them if Fowler stopped being so accusatory with the matter, especially since Connor was under a lot of stress at the moment. </p>
<p>Thankfully, Connor kept up the volley of information. “Yes, it was trapped with chemical explosives, and we’re not sure on how he knew. If he knew about this investigation, there’s no telling what he knows and will use to his advantage in the future.”</p>
<p>Closing his eyes and visibly gritting his teeth, Fowler said, “Great. Anything else I should know?”</p>
<p>“Oneiros may be able to switch out limbs--.”</p>
<p>“You’re fucking kidding me. Get out.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t a joke, but before Connor could say that he grabbed Connor’s arm and dragged him out, into the bustling bullpen. There was a surprised look on Connor’s face as he pulled him to his desk, disappearing after a moment’s worth of contemplation in his office chair and he turned to his terminal with a frown. </p>
<p>“Fowler was right. This is a mess.”</p>
<p>Sighing, Gavin sat down on the edge of Connor’s desk, motioning at the feds. “Well, if he’s to be believed, it won’t be our mess for long.” He felt something in his sternum clench, anxiety eating at his resolve. “Let’s get our reports done,” He said, swallowing. “One thing at a time.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Technically posting this on sunday lmao, as it is 12:40 in the morning, but hey, today was kinda freaky so I'm glad I remembered. I know I said longer chapters but this one is short-ish, and I couldn't tack it onto the next one 'cause that'd make a 12k chapter and that is Too Beefy, so here it is. next chapter is 8k long so :) </p>
<p>idk if anyone noticed but having zlatko dead in the backyard implies that luther shot the hell out of him during that kara scene, and you know what? good for him. shoot the bitch. </p>
<p>anyways, thanks for the awesome support on the last chapter, absolutely loving knowing you guys are enjoying this. the comfort scene with connor was such a blast to write and I'm very glad you guys liked it and it made you Feel Things-- that's all I can ask. Thanks for reading and I'll see you guys next saturday! &lt;3</p>
<p>Next Up: A familiar face makes an appearance at the DPD, and really, really fucks up Gavin's day.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Long Time, No See</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A familiar face shows up at Gavin's workplace and thoroughly ruins his day.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>SERIAL KILLER IN DETROIT, MICHIGAN?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p><em><span>Information has leaked from the DPD’s servers, allegedly revealing an recent and open case categorized as serial, with over 8 deaths under it, all androids. The nature and situation of these murders remains unknown, but recent happenings at a Detroit residence of DPD and FBI involvement seem to give truth to these rumors. What this implies for the future of Detroit, and by extension, androids, is unknown. If this serial killer is targeting androids, there is reason to believe that they possess strong anti-android sentiments, and that it is only a matter of time before</span></em> <em><span>they may try to target high-profile androids.</span></em></p>
<p>
  <span>You know, Gavin thought it was going to be a good day today, for once. Sure, his brother was breathing down his neck, Hank was in the hospital, Connor may have been freaking out, Oneiros was still on the loose, their case was almost most certainly going to be taken by the feds--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Actually, now that he gave it a good thought,  there was a fat fuckin’ chance today was going to be anywhere near pleasant, but a guy can dream, can’t he? He’d been working on compensating the shitty parts of his present life by doing some not-so-shitty things. Like making dinner, for example. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>made food. He couldn’t cook, which wasn’t because he was bad at it, but because he never tried. But he did it anyway. (Or at least that’s what he told himself. (he made soup. Tina’s canned soup.))</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he made dinner. So what? But he </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> made breakfast: an egg. Which was gross, if he had to be honest, probably because he hadn’t cooked an egg in ages, but he ate it nonetheless-- and you know what? It was fulfilling. Not delicious by any means, but he’d done it, and eaten it, and kept it down. Fulfilling, right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He also woke up early to preen. He preened some days in the morning, but he paid special attention to it today, where he took extra time to arrange all his feathers, the downy ones, the flight ones, to be in tip top shape. Sure, some were missing, one glaringly obvious one being a primary flight feather on his left wing, but when he put them straight, in perfect order, it didn’t look </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad. Connor had done a pretty damn good job fixing them up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, is that it? Cooking, eating, preening? Not a chance, fuckwad. He also shaved. His face. With a razor, shaving cream, the whole shebang. Okay, it wasn’t much, just basic hygiene, but he was getting scruffy and it needed to be done. It was the cherry on top of his intricately designed cake of “today is not going to be shit because I said so” cake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So excuse him if he came into work relatively optimistic. Hell, he was practically glowing when he strutted past the receptionist’s desk, a pep in his step. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But good things can’t last, can they? They never do, and by god if Gavin should’ve learnt anything from his time on the mortal fucking coil, it was that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, really, he shouldn’t have been surprised when he swaggered into the precinct and saw the ugly mug of Elijah Kamski walking around with Chloe like they owned the place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The breath was quickly removed from his lungs, and he froze on the spot, all of his good attitude defenestrating itself in less than a heartbeat. What the fuck. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. Something cold and blunt stirred in his sternum-- anxiety, he told himself, and he’d better get a fucking good handle on it soon if he didn’t want to make a scene.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He forced himself to relax and keep walking forward, even if it was at a stilted pace. God, he wished his wings weren’t so big-- he tucked them securely behind himself even if it did very little. God, what was Elijah thinking? Their wings were fucking identical, the idiot! If someone got a good gander at the both of them side-by-side it would be bad, and since apparently some people knew he had a brother he didn’t talk about they’d be dead meat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, and to think he thought today was going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Now, on top of the rest of his personal life going absolutely batshit, one of his most closely guarded secrets was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>walking around his workplace</span>
  </em>
  <span>. God, this was a nightmare, wasn’t it? This seems like the plot to some elaborate nightmare scenario. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His breath hitched. No, no, don’t you fucking dare. He sat himself down at his desk, and stared intently at his hands which he clasped tightly on the surface. His shaking hands. He clasped them tighter, until the shaking was due to the pressure he was exerting and not his frayed nerves. Suddenly, he wasn’t as pleased he’d made an egg for breakfast as it was now trying to crawl it’s way back out of his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He breathed, in, and out a few times in an effort to lower his heart rate. It worked, marginally, and feeling a little emboldened by the fact he had at least a mole of control over his own body, crept his gaze upward, spotting Elijah from across the bullpen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He exhaled a breath he didn’t remember inhaling. Elijah was facing away from him, chatting with Chloe, and he only got a look of his ivory wings and stupid-ass ponytail. He laughed at that, a little frazzled. It did look really stupid. Chloe laughed, and turned a little farther past Elijah, stopping once she’d noticed someone was looking at them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, shit. Chloe had seen him. Like an idiot, he didn’t immediately avert his gaze until after Chloe had murmured something to Elijah and he looked over his shoulder. Their eyes met for less than a millisecond before Gavin tore his sight away, breath hitching again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he peeked back, they were gone. A quick survey of the bullpen revealed he was completely out of sight. Likely he’d left to a different floor. Good. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Exhaling once more to recompose himself, he turned on his computer and tried to distract himself from the doomsday that was today. Unmitigated disaster. Blinking, he scrolled through the bits and pieces of the report he’d gotten done tomorrow. He felt himself relax as he sunk into the busywork.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Usually, it wouldn’t take him more than a day to fill out just one report, but the incident had been such an unprecedented clusterfuck he really hadn’t known where to start or where to finish, so he had written only parts of it in hopes he’d have a better grasp on it the next day. Which was today, and he really, really didn’t know still. He pushed a breath through his clenched teeth and sucked it up, typing what he thought the report should look like. If his was shit, he could at least trust Connor to submit something reliable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He got a good chunk in, the time slipping by once he’d pushed the fact Elijah was stalking around the back of his mind. It was nice to lose himself in the report, with no regards to everything else, even if anxiety nagged at him from afar like a nippy puppy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was making good progress when he blinked and the heaviness of his eyelids reminded him that he hadn’t made any coffee today. Cautiously, he took his eyes off his computer and scanned the path to the break room-- and thank god, the only one there was Tina. He took the chance with energy, making his way to their corner table quickly and efficiently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tina gave him an odd look, opening her mouth to say something, but before a single word escaped her, Gavin held up a hand to stop her and walked to the coffee machine, filling a foam cup with their shitty coffee, and walked back. He made a motion for her to continue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t for a moment. A glance told Gavin she was looking at him with a mix of annoyance, concern, with some sort of unimpressed flair. “Uh, so what crawled up your ass and died?” She said, blinking. She had her own cup of coffee, half empty so she’d been there for a while already. When Gavin didn’t respond, just sipping at his coffee, she leaned in, one eyebrow raised, and asked, “Is Kamski making you so itchy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin just gritted his teeth and sneered, to which Tina nodded and kept speaking. “Yeah, he’s makin’ me kinda itchy, too, with his ‘droid wandering around. Wonder what they’re here for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing good,” Gavin said, hiding most of his face in the cup. “Kamski’s nothin’ but bad news, Teens.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Tina said, smiling. “‘Sides, it seems he’s disappeared for now. Let’s hope he’s left.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding, Gavin noted he felt a little bit better. Maybe he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> left, and that thought was enough to unwind the knots his stomach was twisting into, even if just a little. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I heard about the mansion and stuff,” she said. “How’s Hank?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taking a conservative sip of the coffee, Gavin shook his head. “He’s, uh, not great, to say the least. Connor’s taking it pretty hard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, jeez. Connor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Showed up at my house that night.” he said, setting his coffee down. “He was really torn up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like, what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like, crying, Teens.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tine brought a hand to her mouth, eyebrows furrowed. “Jesus. No wonder he hasn’t come in to work yet today.” She shook her head, looking out the side of the break room, frowning. “Poor guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That caught Gavin’s attention. “Connor hasn’t come in to work today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope,” Tina said, popping the ‘p’. “At least, no one’s seen him. And with those wings, he’s kinda hard to miss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sharp beep sounded from Tina’s vest. “Ah, shit. I gotta go,” she gripped the speaker and shouted something into it, annoyed. “I’ll see you around, Gav. Try not to let Kamski throw you off your rocker.” And with a wink, she was gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right as she left his line of sight Gavin felt his anxiousness rear its head again. Angry that it crept back so fast, he glared at his reflection in the steaming coffee, trying to get his shaky hand to stop disturbing the image. Connor wasn’t at work, yet, huh? He sighed. He wished he hadn’t shown up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“--cuse me, Detective Reed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin startled, jolting and splashing some coffee onto the table. “Jesus Christ!” He turned around, pissed that someone snuck up on him. His curses died in his throat when he was met by the clear, concerned gaze of a RT600 Chloe. “Jesus,” he said, running a hand down his face. “You assholes need bells.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her face shifted as her eyebrows tilted downwards, looking just slightly miffed. “My apologies, Gavin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, saying his first name made him shiver, in a bad way. He had hoped (kinda dumbly), that Elijah and his bots would’ve forgotten that they were related. Apparently not, considering Chloe thought it was prudent to have them on a first name basis. Not that Chloe had a last name he could refer to her as. Or was it Kamski? He didn’t know, and didn’t want to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chloe continued, unperturbed by Gavin’s sour disposition. “Elijah and I have been waiting for Connor. Do you know where he may be?” she said pleasantly, keeping her distance as if Gavin would lash out. Maybe a couple of months ago, but even if he was stressed the fuck out he wouldn’t hit her, for god’s sake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scoffing, Gavin turned back to his coffee, not wanting anyone to see some sort of recognition there. “The fuck you need Connor for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chloe blinked, her kind look not quite faltering but hinting at some other emotion. Fuck, was he making her mad? That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> funny. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Elijah and I have some questions and diagnostics to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What,” he said, turning to her and leaning on the table. “Like he’s some lab rat?” He wouldn’t be so confident if Elijah was here, he told himself. He should tone the cockiness down a bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin’s blood went cold when Chloe’s pleasant demeanor dropped. Her body language didn’t change, but the sudden blank, unimpressed look on her face was enough to shake some sense into Gavin and stop being difficult. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s been a tough week for him, alright?” Gavin conceded. “He doesn’t have to come to work every day.” But he’d sure try, that’s for sure. “He’s probably visiting Anderson in the hospital. He should be back soon.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>But that doesn’t mean it’s okay for you creeps to harass him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding, Chloe seemed to understand his implication. Good. Hopefully they’d leave him alone once he did arrive. “Thank you, Gavin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah.” he said. “Go bother Elijah, will you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled at that. “That, I can do. Thank you again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only after she’d left did he realize he’d not only referred to Elijah by his first name, but also mentioned him like they were familiar. Chloe likely hadn’t been happy that he gave her a half-assed answer, but that he acknowledged Elijah existed at all, the little shit. He groaned, and took a few, big gulps of his coffee, hating how the conversation had done wonders on his nerves. He’d only met Chloe on a few, very isolated incidents, but she had a way of doing that. It probably had something to do with her placid nature. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin whittled away them time while he drank his coffee, and when he ran out of that and the caffeine made his teeth jitter, he stalked back to his desk and continued his stupid ass report like a good detective. God, he hated reports. Everyone did, even Chris (probably), who rarely said he hated anything. That’s how you knew something sucked-- if Chris said he hated it, it was bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris would probably hate the situation Gavin was in, or at least he’d hope.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He continued to chip away at his big-ass report, resenting the feds clogging up the precinct. He didn’t even know why they were there. They hadn’t gotten control of the case, so they weren’t there for evidence or anything. All they were doing in the end was stirring up trouble and sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. Just like a certain half-brother and his ‘droid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Connor finally walked in from the front, looking like he wasn’t even late, Gavin just about cried. He didn’t, but it felt like a moment where he could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Connor!” Gavin greeted once Connor had made his way closer. “Where’ve you been?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Smiling kindly, Connor stood next to Gavin’s desk. He looked good. “I was visiting Hank. He’s doing well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s good to hear.” he said. So Connor was in a good mood, huh? That was good to hear, too. He was visiting Hank, seemed pretty stable, all that good stuff. At least one of them was having a good day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking him up and down, Connor’s face turned concerned. “Are you okay, Gavin? Your heart rate is considerably elevated--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Connor! Just the person I wanted to see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin’s blood turned to ice. Every joint of his body locked up like they’d been stuck through with nine inch nails, and his chest seized with such ferocity he thought he had choked on something. His stomach dropped so hard he felt queasy. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Trying to salvage some sort of his composure, he forced himself to relax and turned his chair around to face his half-brother for the first time in over a decade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was anticlimactic, really. Sure, his heart was pounding out his goddamn chest and if he tried to pick up a pen it would slide right out of his grasp with how much his palms were sweating, but Elijah just looked… old. Old</span>
  <em>
    <span>er</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Truth be told, their age difference was only a little over a year and a half, but it was a little jarring how much ten years or so did to someone’s appearance. He’d had his long hair buzzed at the sides but kept the ridiculous ponytail-bun-thing, and he’d worn something normal. Gavin thought he’d dress more eccentrically, considering he was one of the richest men alive, but no. A t-shirt and jeans. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s eyes followed Elijah’s every move. “I wasn’t aware you were searching for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah huffed, amused. Gavin noticed that he’d ditched the glasses. “Chloe and I have been here for quite some time, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin noticed Connor’s gaze turn icy and cold. “I hate to disappoint, Kamski, but I don’t intend on doing any tests of yours.” His tone was frigid, intimidating, and Gavin suddenly remembered that yes, Connor was very capable of killing them even if he was a smidgeon emotionally unstable at the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Putting his hands out in a placating motion, Elijah proceeded. “No tests of that sort. Just diagnostics. Think of it as a check-up.” He gestured to Chloe, who had come to stand next to him. “I’m sure Chloe would be willing to vouch for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turning, Gavin watched Connor appraise the duo warily, then his eyes blinked rapidly for a moment before stilling. Connor reluctantly relaxed and nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand, but I will only comply if Detective Reed comes with me.” Connor said, serious. Gavin’s eyes went wide and he felt himself slightly shake his head. What was Connor thinking? Gavin was fuckin’ freaking out and Elijah hadn’t even said a word to him yet. It was asking for trouble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s alright. If you wish to bring… Detective Reed along, we won’t stop you.” Elijah glanced at him when he said his name, and Gavin’s heart pounded wildly. Was that him avoiding calling him Gavin or was it because he cared for Gavin so little he couldn’t spit it out? Not that he cared-- Elijah could eat shit and get fucked for all he cared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re set up on the second floor, so if you two would come with us,” Chloe said, stepping in front of Elijah. “We can make this quick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Piling into the elevator with his half-brother, the android he was dating (?), and the android his half brother created was tense, to say the least. Gavin was constantly adjusting his wings to try and mitigate their appearance so Connor didn’t catch on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once they had all stuffed themselves in the elevator, Gavin found himself standing side by side with his brother in the back of the space. God dammit, he was taller. It was a dumb thought, but it didn’t freak him out more so he took what he could get. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin inhaled sharply when something brushed against him-- wait, did Elijah just fucking nudge him with his wing? Gavin sneered and shot a glare at him, but his brother just continued to look forward, but now with a smirk. Asshole. After a moment, Gavin steeled his gaze forward, and silently whacked Elijah back, clenching his jaw when Elijah let out a quiet snort, amused. Out of the two androids in the front of the elevator, Connor continued to look forward, but Chloe turned her head, one eyebrow raised and her face amused. They both snapped their sight forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The elevator ride was short, thank god, and he was glad to be out of the small space. That little interaction was odd to say the least, and he tried not to think about it as Elijah and Chloe led them to a technician room. Inside was a pretty hefty workstation set up-- a large monitor connected to a beefy PC (did Elijah haul that thing here?) and a bunch of miscellaneous wires that didn’t seem remotely organized. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s apprehension was apparent the moment they stepped inside-- he adopted that janky posture as if he had a plank of wood nailed to his back and the ebony sheen of his wings got buried behind his silhouette. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once Elijah and Chloe had stepped in front of the two, facing away as they approached the work station, Gavin did his little thing and sidled up next to Connor for some sort of tangential support. If Chloe or Elijah noticed it when they took their places at the workbench, they didn’t say anything. With a slight flourish of his wings, Elijah seated himself in the chair in front of the monitor, tapped a few things on the screen, and addressed Connor warmly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gestured to one of the chairs set up in the room, that was directly next to the PC with it’s innumerable amount of wires like some sort of steel cable. “If you’ll have a seat here, we can begin. It shouldn’t take too long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor complied, but he sat down like someone had a gun to his head. Taking a quick look around, Gavin pulled over a similar chair and set it down a few feet in front of Connor’s, to be in his direct line of sight while Elijah did whatever it was he needed to do. Something kind flashed in Connor’s eyes, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he appreciated the gesture.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah picked up something familiar from the tangle of wires. “I’m going to need access to your port, Connor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steadily, Connor brought his hand up to the back of his neck, where his fingers ghosted for a moment before pulling away. Gavin couldn’t see what exactly was happening due to his position, but his mind recalled an image from that night at the mansion, when Connor had opened a panel on the back of his neck, to show where the cable would go. A quick glance at the cable Elijah had pulled out confirmed his suspicions-- that Elijah would be sticking Connor with the freaky USB thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah picked up the plug with a thanks, and brought it to Connor’s neck, who visibly tensed when it neared. When it clicked into place, Connor began to blink rapidly, just like he’d done when he’d cyber-conversed with Chloe earlier. After a moment, he ceased, and Elijah began to call out several things to which Connor would answer, neither parts of the Q&amp;A making a lick of sense to Gavin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor seemed comfortable enough with the form of diagnostics they had going. It seemed like Elijah would read a status that had some sort of value attached, and Connor would parrot back what value he had, and Elijah would cross reference. It continued like this for some time, and Gavin at some point sat back in his chair and spaced out for a while, tuning out all the technical jargon his half-brother was spitting like it was a sermon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah’s voice paused, then continued with a different tone. Gavin lifted his head to catch what he was saying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For the next tests you’re going to need to be in stasis,” Elijah said, peering up from the screen. When had he put on glasses? “If that’s alright with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched as Connor shifted in his seat, a crease forming between his eyebrows. It seemed like he had some sort of internal monologue, just then, and if he’d still had his LED Gavin was sure it’d be blinking madly like a firework show. With a deep exhale, Connor’s eyes flicked to Gavin and he nodded silently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah watched the wordless interaction with thinly veiled interest. “Okay, then.” He interacted with the screen for a moment, and brought his eyes back to Connor. “Initiating stasis now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s eyes slipped shut and his head tilted down. For a moment, Gavin thought he’d fucking died right there and then, but the gentle rise and fall of Connor’s chest said otherwise-- an act only necessary to purge the android’s systems of unnecessary heat, but not something dead androids did. It just looked like he’d passed out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened to his LED?” Elijah’s voice rang out. It took a moment for Gavin to realize he was addressing </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not Chloe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mind stuttered like a broken CD but he was able to say, “Lost it in an explosion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah raised an eyebrow. “It got knocked off?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To that, Gavin nodded, and as he did, Chloe paced over to Connor’s side and lightly touched his temple. The skin receded some at the touch, and Chloe inspected the area. “It’s scuffed up, but looks okay. It must’ve been an awfully close call.” she shot Gavin a pointed look, and Gavin wanted to toss himself out a window. What was her problem?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t look at me like that. He lost it protecting me from the blast, of his own volition.” He scoffed. Suddenly ticked off, he straightened himself up. “What the fuck are you assholes doing here, anyways? Connor’s fine, he doesn’t need fuckin’-- diagnostics or whatever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah levelled him with a bored stare, tossing whatever sort of distance he was keeping between Gavin and himself away now that Connor was asleep. “We weren’t planning on actually visiting the precinct.” He said. “But a certain half-brother of mine refused to answer some of my very important questions over text, so I figured -- what’s the harm in stopping by?” Sliding his glasses off his nose, he set them down and leaned on the table with an almost mocking gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaning forward to match Elijah’s posture, Gavin sneered in response. “You know exactly what you’re risking by being here, you</span>
  <em>
    <span> asshole.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He felt his wings brush the chair as they extended as he got angry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfazed, Elijah continued. “I have no issue with the fact we’re related, Gavin. In my eyes, I’m not risking anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you would fucking say that. Attend, don’t attend, it’s all just bullshit to you.” Gavin spat, standing up. He felt that red hot anger that he was so used to enveloping him in it’s fiery warmth. “You don’t fucking care! I don’t know what it is with you, but-- it’s fucking infuriating!” He stepped forward and pushed the monitor aside so he could sneer at Elijah directly. “I’ve done so much to fucking hide and forget you exist, and you wanna just waltz into my fucking workplace? Do you ever in your life actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chloe was quick to step in between them, grabbing Gavin’s shoulder and gently pulling him off the table. With a sneer, he shouldered her hand off and stepped back, pissed as shit but knowing when he was outnumbered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah’s eyes narrowed. “That’s awfully rich, coming from you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> you would say that.” Gavin said, voice low. “I wonder if you’re ever going to get off your fucking high horse, ‘Lij, I really do. I don’t know what sort of goddamn superiority complex you have that makes you think your actions don’t have consequences, but it’s fucking pathetic.” Stepping back, he laughed humorlessly as he looked down at the ground, head shaking. “God-- and I thought you’d started to change.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At Elijah’s blank look, he laughed again, but this time he actually thought it was funny in some twisted sort of way. “You start textin’ me, like-like a fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother</span>
  </em>
  <span> would--and, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m an idiot.” He said, a little frayed at the edges. “I should’ve known how seriously you’d take this shit. After mom’s--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He went to take a breath in, but it caught in his throat. He tried again, but it hitched harder. Pushing it past anyways, despite how suddenly the room felt very cottony but also like someone had shoved the walls in a few feet, he stepped back again, and again, until the back of his knees knocked the chair and he fell down into it. His breath fought him every lick of the way as he choked on the air of the room, hand over his mouth like it could help him breathe. Maybe he was trying to hide his face-- but that didn’t mean much to him as that terrible feeling pooled in his gut and through his chest, constricting him like a giant snake hellbent on killing him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He barely noticed as Chloe bolted to his side, who came to a kneeling position and put her hand on Gavin’s shoulder again. “Gavin--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t-- touch me,” Gavin gasped, trying to wrench out of her grip. It stayed firm, and he barely saw Elijah stand up and pace over to them through his rapid blinking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah pulled another chair over, and the squeal of the legs on the floor made him wince. After he had taken his seat, and Gavin was still sitting there, trying to gulp down air like he had almost drowned, he leaned forward, not touching Gavin, but very clearly in his line of sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have to breathe, Gavin.” he said, like it wasn’t the hardest thing in the world. Gavin somehow found the spare attention to shoot him a withering glare. Elijah didn’t make a snide remark like he’d expected, but just leaned forward with his eyebrows furrowed further, as if he cared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chloe’s other hand reached over to the hand covering Gavin’s mouth, and she pulled it away in her iron grip. Usually, the tight grasp would send him spiraling more, but with Chloe it was grounding. Fuckin’ androids, huh. Shooting his gaze forward, he curled his hands into fists and forced a breath in his lungs. It caught-- but he pushed anyways to get a full lungful. Then, with no amount of care, he exhaled through the hiccups and jumps of his diaphragm with considerable force. He swallows, once, heart pounding and making him feel like he was going to die. He was going to die-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he wasn’t, it just felt like it. Fuck Elijah. Fuck Elijah. Fuck you. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” He grit out, when he could breathe at least somewhat. He didn’t bother looking at Elijah when he said it, because it was pretty goddamn clear who he was addressing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a slight rustling as Elijah shifted in his seat. “Yeah,” he said plainly. “I guess I deserve that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> garnered enough of a reason for Gavin to look. Dumbly, he blinked at Elijah as he wrangled in the last of his breathing jitters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean to push,” said Elijah. “Just got a little ticked off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chloe released Gavin’s shoulders and arms without any fanfare. Rising, she came to stand in front of Gavin. “I believe he means to say sorry.” She tilted her head towards Elijah, giving him a pleasant expression with something sharp thinly veiled underneath it. “Am I wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blinking, Elijah leaned back in his chair, expressionless. He didn’t answer. Gavin rolled his eyes. Of course he didn’t answer. What did he expect? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, Gavin,” Elijah started. “I’m being sincere when I text you. It’s been a long time, since we’ve spoken. I admit that Connor wasn’t the only reason I decided to stop by, but had I realized that it would… affect you like this,” he trailed off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin snorted, a little dazed.  “You wanted to say hi?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sigh escaped Elijah’s lips. “You could say that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are better fuckin’ places to say hi, ‘Lij.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I’m starting to see why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, is this all it takes for you to think? I should try it more often.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah’s glare was sharp. “Don’t joke, Gavin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever.” Gavin said, waving. It felt like he’d just run a marathon, chest and throat sore, legs jittery. “Got anything stupid to say while I’m still recovering? Can’t punch you if I can barely stand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The huff of laughter that escaped Elijah’s mouth made Gavin jump-- not only did it genuinely startle him, he didn’t expect any sort of mirth from his half-brother. Exhaling, he leaned into the back of the chair and closed his eyes. “God, you’re an asshole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Elijah said dryly, standing up. He pushed the chair he was seated on back where it belonged, and then took his place back at the workbench. “Is it such a bad thing that I want to reconnect?” He said, quietly. His face was hidden behind the monitor, so Gavin couldn’t begin to decipher that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it is.” Gavin said. “I don’t know if I can get it through your big-ass skull, but you should consider the consequences when you decide to not show up to </span>
  <em>
    <span>very important family functions</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like, I don’t know, your own mom’s fucking funeral?” Letting his head loll to the side a bit, he sneered, “You don’t fucking think. You don’t care. I just-- jesus.” He would’ve wiped a hand over his face but his arm would’ve shook too much and he didn’t want to give Eli any more shows of weakness, even though this was pretty damn pitiful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is… that what you think of me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to scoff, confirm it, dig the heel of his shoe into Elijah’s cheek with a laugh, but he paused and the resulting silence made him want to crawl out of his skin. He glared at where Elijah was sitting, catching his breath, when he caught Chloe’s sharp gaze and immediately pressed, grumbled,  “How’s Cyberlife?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah paused in his typing, clearly caught off guard. After a moment that had Gavin thinking he was being ignored, Eli said, “It’s fine. Full of idiots, but what’s new.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Gavin said. “Everyone’s gotta look like af fuckin’ idiot to you, Mr. SAT.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah poked his head above the monitor, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t even get a perfect score on the SAT.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blowing a raspberry, Gavin rolled his eyes. “Oh, right. Twenty points off for writing a shit essay. Allow me to apologize, Mr. SAT.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The essay wasn’t that bad,” Elijah said. “Mr. ACT would be more appropriate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus,” Gavin breathed. “Only you, ‘Lij. Only you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While they were speaking, Chloe had risen from her knees from where she’d grabbed at Gavin to ground him. He rubbed at his shoulder, feeling some tenderness. Damn, she had a grip on her. Any harder and he surely would’ve bruised. Now, Chloe was standing a good distance away from the both of them, and seemed to be satisfied with the borderline civil conversation they were having. If Gavin wasn’t still recovering from earlier, though, he was sure it would be a lot sharper and more nasty than it was currently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t fucking believe it. Elijah just waltzed into the precinct to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>hi</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Of course, he was under the guise of needing to check on Connor-- actually, it wasn’t much of a guise, since he seemed to actually be doing diagnostics. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why’re you checking out Connor’s program or whatever?” He said, training his eyes on the floor. “Don’t see any of the other droids here get checkups.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still focused on the computer, Elijah continued to type as he spoke. “Well, Connor here isn’t like most androids. He’s a prototype.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That literally means nothing to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah sighed audibly. “Technically, he’s not finished. The DPD was meant to be a test-run in the real world, not his official deployment. I was worried about his AI. You know that blinky thing he does when he receives information wirelessly? Not supposed to happen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin snorted. “Wonder what techie bozo messed that up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wonder that, too. But the blinking I wasn’t concerned about. The RK series is the series that is most cutting-edge with their AI’s and reasoning systems.” Elijah did pause, then, and glanced around the monitor. “Because of the experimental nature of his AI, I was concerned about deterioration.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That caught Gavin’s attention, and suddenly he was worried all over again. “And?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> nothing. There’s no issues. Deviancy is quite a thing.” He said, contemplative. “You should know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh,” Gavin said, knowing what he was implying. “You’re disgusting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I disgusting, Chloe?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence. Gavin barked out a laugh. Elijah’s jaw parted slightly as Chloe raised her eyebrows. “You’re not disgusting.” She smiled. “I think ‘gross’ is a little more appropriate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chloe!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin laughed, that time, whole-heartedly. It was a belly-laugh, one that reverberated through the room and he caught ‘Lij smirking, too. In his own megalomaniacal way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pushing the monitor aside, Elijah reigned in his measly mirth and reached towards the cord stuck in Connor’s neck, pulling it out. Connor’s head and neck followed the motion, but he otherwise remained unconscious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He gonna wake up?” Gavin asked, sitting himself upright in the chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah didn’t seem worried. “Any minute now. It takes a moment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was quiet for a moment. Elijah began idly packing up the equipment he’d brought-- folding down the monitor (like paper. What kind of tech did that?) and putting that, along with the PC he’d brought, in a structured bag. Gathering the stray wires and the plug, Chloe pulled together the monster of copper and colorful rubber wiring into a neat loop and set it next to the equipment in the bag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Swallowing, Gavin realized there was a closing window of opportunity. “Hey, uh,” he waffled. Thankfully, Elijah looked up. “Look. Showing up here today was a fuckin’ shitty thing to do, all right? You gotta think about this shit before you do it. Next time,” oh shit, did he just say next time? “Just… put it past me, will ya? You don’t gotta make saying hi a surprise, for Pete’s sake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah looked surprised. “Can do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just then, Connor’s eyes blinked open, their doe brownness taking in the world around him like he’d just woken up from a nap. His eyes landed on Gavin, and he gave him a little smile to reassure him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There we are,” Elijah said. “Welcome back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a pause before Connor responded. “I trust everything is alright with my systems?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding, Elijah continued to move and pack up. “Nothing worrying came up. Can you please do a quick calibration exercise before I head out?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding, Connor stood up and reached into his pocket, pulling a coin out. He thumbed it over, and then began to flick it between his hands, rolling it over his knuckles in intricate and dextrous patterns. Gavin’s eyes stayed glued to the entire process. It was like, fucking, quarter acrobatics or something. After catching it between his forefinger and middle finger, he rolled it over the back of his fingers once more before bringing it to a stop in the middle of his palm. “Calibration is normal.” He said, pocketing the coin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s good.” Elijah said, picking up the bag and stringing it over his shoulder. “I just need to check in with Captain Fowler and I’ll be on my way. Thank you for cooperating, Connor, Gavin.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two left, Connor and Gavin not removing themselves from the technician’s room. Once his half-brother and his droid had stepped into the elevator and the doors slid shut, Connor turned to Gavin, some terrible words on his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s the half brother you talk about, isn’t he?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin swallowed dryly, feeling like the floor had just dropped from beneath him. His hands came to grip the sides of the seat of his chair, white knuckled and shaking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to say anything,” Connor said, softly. “I can see it’s difficult.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Say something. Say something, you idiot!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He is,” Gavin choked out. “Fuck. He is.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was like a pair of heavy iron manacles around his ankles released, falling to the ground with a silent clatter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor came to his side, hands already grabbing Gavin’s in a warm embrace. “It’s alright. You don’t have to push yourself. Thank you for telling me.” His voice was soft, gentle. That morning when he looked about ready to kick Elijah in the throat was long gone--this, he was used to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Gavin muttered. “Should’ve told you earlier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s eyes looked down, a little guiltily. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve had my suspicions for a while, now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What gave it away?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have very similar voices, wings, and even some mannerisms, but it was Kamski’s textbook on your coffee table that confirmed it.” Fuck, the robotics textbook!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” he said, bringing a hand to cover his eyes, more embarrassed now than freaked out. “Forgot about that shit. Can’t fuckin’ believe this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor just had a way of doing that, didn’t he? Everything he’d built-- barbed wires and sharp words to keep people out, Connor just sidestepped effortlessly, no matter the age or sturdiness of the defense. How did he do it? Connor was probably more informed and knowledgeable of Gavin and his life than anyone else in the world-- with the maybe exception of Elijah. And he’d done it effortlessly. Sure, Gavin pushed back and spat curses at him at the beginning, but Connor didn’t falter in the face of it-- and somehow, that was enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think of you any less because of it, Gavin.” Connor said in that unbelievably kind and understanding way. What the fuck did Gavin do to warrant treatment like this? He’d only ever been a shitty person.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I just--” his hand dropped from his eyes, and he looked straight at Connor, not quite meeting his gaze. “I don’t fuckin’ deserve you.” and he meant it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor didn’t respond to that-- maybe it was true, or maybe he didn’t know how to respond. The silence didn’t bother Gavin, and for some reason he knew it wasn’t the former Connor thought to be the truth. So, he didn’t find himself worrying about it, which was good, even if it was true. At least Connor was here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At some point, they had to get up. Gavin couldn’t hole himself in the technician’s room all day, and Connor sure as hell couldn’t stay with him, so they left. It was a little odd to go down the elevator in such a dazed peace when he’d been ready to shit himself the first time when his brother was there, and Connor didn’t know. Now he did, and suddenly the roaring in his ears and the pounding in his chest subsided to a sort of pleasant numbness, kind of like the sun poking out of the clouds after a lightning storm-- if that storm had been a goddamn attack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was embarrassed that he’d broken down like that, in front of Chloe and Elijah. Frankly, it was actually super fucking humiliating, and he viciously tried to chase away the shame that burned its way through his body whenever he thought about it. It was a problem-- not the shame, he deserved that, but how many fucking times he’d broken down like that in say, the past month or so. He didn’t even know where to begin to try and help it, though. He hadn’t had issues like this since, well, it feels like since high school, really. And isn’t that just a little fucked up? That a 30-something year old man had about as good a grip on his stress than a 16-year old?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, it didn’t matter now, at least. It was over for the time being. Gotta just… keep moving forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And move forward, the day did. There was a sizable commotion in the bullpen when Connor and Gavin arrived, and honestly, he welcomed the chaos to distract him. Feds buzzing around at a speed faster than usual, some cops surrounding one of the chairs--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was surprised, when he and Connor pushed passed the spectators, to see Ancaeus sitting in someone’s office chair like someone invited him over to tea-- thing was, though, the guy looked fucking terrified.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s enough,” Gavin drawled loudly. “Don’t you guys have anywhere better to be?” Some officers grumbled their dissatisfaction and left, but two Feds remained, stubbornly glaring at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he moved to tell the two off, Connor put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back until Connor was in front. “I’m assuming you are also assigned to the case?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One of the bozos nodded, a sour look still on his face. God, Gavin had forgotten the case wasn’t entirely theirs now. It was a miracle they hadn’t just taken it away from the DPD yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancaeus’s freaky red eyes widened when Connor addressed him. “Ancaeus, what are you doing here?” He asked. Ancaeus straightened up and Gavin watched the exposed wiring of his jaw twitch and grind when he spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Oneiros,” He stammered. What had shaken him up? Last time they’d seen him, he’d been perfectly calm even though his best friend turned into some sort of android-hating killing machine. “He showed up at Jericho.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He what?” Gavin said, stepping out from behind Connor. “Did he do anything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He didn’t hurt anyone, he just,” Ancaeus swallowed, his eyes flicking between the men surrounding him. “He showed up at my room. Started… raving like a madman. I was scared.” When one of the officers from earlier tried to walk close and eavesdrop, Gavin shot him a withering glare to tell him to fuck off, of which he did, thankfully. “He was saying these </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible</span>
  </em>
  <span> things-- I mean--- he didn’t threaten me but I was still scared he was going to do something to me,” Ancaeus let out a shuddery breath and his face twisted, but he didn’t continue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor was quiet when he spoke. “What was he saying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Most of it was just-- nonsense. Garblings of someone crazy-- but he did say something about Markus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus,” Gavin said. “Like, robo-jesus,” Connor elbowed him for that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancaeus nodded. “That’s the only Markus that comes to mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin took a moment to digest that-- that Oneiros was going for the big game, now, and wasn’t even bothering to hide it. He’d heard of evil monologues before-- in fucking superhero movies, but that fact that this dickwad actually decided he was going to spill the beans to his former best friend was astounding. What kind of show-off did it take to not only blow up a goddamn mansion-- but also to villain monologue to someone who would definitely spill the beans? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So he likes letting people know about what he’s doing,” Gavin said. “And now he’s going after Markus, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The address,” Connor breathed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bingo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh,” one of the feds said, “Mind filling us in?” Jesus, Gavin thought, rolling his eyes. These idiots should just leave it to them instead of fucking being obnoxious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin took a moment to audibly scoff at the guy, just to let him know he wasn’t welcome here. Sure, it was rude, but he didn’t care. “Markus routinely makes addresses to the androids of the country, dipshit, and the next one’s getting broadcasted internationally. Oneiros will be there, no doubt about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancaeus’s exposed jaw slid open, shocked. “You don’t think he’s going to try--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How could you </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> think he was going to try to kill Markus?” Gavin said, incredulous. “I get this guy used to be your friend and all, but you gotta realize that the person you knew as a friend is long gone.” Like, Jesus! He was killing people! Stiffening at his words, Ancaeus looked down, obscuring his eyes from the onlookers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor was fast to try and take the edge off of Gavin’s words. “But you made the right choice by coming here and telling us, Ancaeus. This is very important information and we cannot overstate it’s vital nature. Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s right, though. I need to stop holding out for him. He’s not going to stop.” the android said solemnly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor shook his head. “It’s not our job to comment on these things, however.” And somehow, Gavin knew that was pointed at him even if Connor didn’t make any indication. The words were sharp, but only in a way that someone who knew Connor for a while would be able to notice, and it did the trick-- Gavin backed off, something nasty still simmering in his gut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They exchanged a few more words, then. In a statement or two, Ancaeus detailed some of the mad ramblings Oneiros had spouted. He wasn’t kidding; it really was unmitigated nonsense. There were a few things that Gavin recognized-- some things about Andronikov, Jericho, and even mentioning the AK700 he’d murdered, but none of it was anywhere near coherent. Just… blabbering. It was odd, that so much of his words ended up being nonsense, because the trap at the mansion was far too clever and well set-up for someone who was barely holding on to sanity. Maybe he’d finally lost it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After they’d gotten all they could from the shaken Ancaeus, the android took his leave and headed back to Jericho, promising that if he did as much as hear Oneiros’s name that he’d call the DPD immediately. As Gavin watched him leave, he reflected on the eventfulness of the day as a whole. It was really amazing how much life could toss at you in one day. All this hubbub warranted another hour of preening-- or at least a really stupid movie to lose himself in for an hour or so. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin jumped when Elijah’s voice piped in from out of nowhere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What model is he?” He said, watching Ancaeus walk through the gate with his one white wing tucked securely behind him.  “I can’t quite place it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s likely that he’s unrecognizable because of the extensive modifications he went under,” Connor supplied. “He’s likely a combination of non-Cyberlife parts and parts from many different androids.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elijah nodded, but his eyebrows remained furrowed. “Must be nice if he needs parts, then. Being able to go outside of his original model’s parts, I mean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It would be nice. My parts cost a fortune,” Connor said. Yeah, that would make sense, wouldn’t it? Him being a one-of a kind prototype and all. They probably had to make his parts if he needed them, as they most likely didn’t just have them in surplus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chuckling, Elijah adjusted the bag of tech on his shoulder. “Hey, if you need anything specific, don’t hesitate to ask.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor’s eyes darkened with strong distrust, and he stayed silent as Elijah and Chloe exited the building. Connor’s cold behaviour towards Elijah was not overlooked by Gavin-- Elijah definitely deserved whatever silent justice Connor wanted to deliver, and this frigid attitude was a reminder that Connor could be dangerous if he wanted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus,” Gavin said, rolling his neck. “What a disaster.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me about it.” said one of the feds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin rolled his eyes.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry this is a day late, stuff got in the way and I never got the chance to sit down and upload this yesterday, but here she is!!! kamski shows up with his stupid hair cut :,) I tried to keep him pretty chill but cautious all the same-- and I fucking love chloe too so there's that. she's a terror and I love her. this is where the whole mom angst thing comes in, and it's not a lot, pretty much just that, but it's there all the same. I totally messed with their birthdays too, to accommodate them having the same mom and not dad. </p>
<p>so! there it is, the cat's out of the bag for connor :0. enlightened. We're actually around, idk, six chapters out from the end of the fic-- but I'm probably going to double upload two of them 'cause it's really just one 15k chapter split in two-- keep the momentum and all that. but I already have another 50k fic finished (reed900 soulmate au) and ready to upload once this one closes off, so there'll be plenty of stuff coming out for some time to come.</p>
<p>Thank you so much for reading and engaging, and sticking with this fic! See you next weekend &lt;3 &lt;3</p>
<p>Next Up: Gavin and Connor have a flying lesson. (Featuring: cuddling, but still denying that your android half-boyfriend loves you. And Sumo.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Sunny Skies, Taking Flight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor and Gavin have a flying lesson, and learn some things about each other on the way.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> MARKUS TO DELIVER ADDRESS AMIDST INCREASING SAFETY CONCERNS </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Detroit is tense after some sensitive documents got leaked to the public eye a week ago. These documents revealed information about hundreds of recent DPD Android murder cases, a number of them marked as serial, and this has raised significant concern for the Detroit Android community, especially now that Android leader Markus and his peers are planning on broadcasting his regularly scheduled address internationally. Some of his supporters have voiced their concerns over the potential dangers of continuing with the broadcast at Stratford Tower this Friday, but Markus has stressed the importance and un-reschedulability of this address and will continue to speak come Friday. </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (8:00): Hello, Gavin. :)</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:00): Hey. Something up?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (8:00): Nothing in particular. I’m visiting Hank, right now.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:01): Really? How’s he doing?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (8:01): Very well! &lt;img.411&gt; </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:01): Doesn’t look too pleased to be in a selfie, Con.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor: (8:02): He always looks like that. He is actually very happy, because he’s healing well and on track to be released next week.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:02): That’s good to hear. Any PT?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (8:02): Extensive, as the shrapnel damaged many of his muscles and tendons, but I’ll be there to make sure he doesn’t try and skip it.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:03): That’s good.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:04): Is there another reason you decided to text me, or did you just wanna talk about Hank?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (8:04): I actually wanted to see if you were up for some flying today.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:04): Yeah, actually. That’d be awesome.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (8:05): I’ll pick you up at 10:00. :-)</b>
</p><p>It was one of Gavin’s days off. Not a vacation day, not leave, a bona-fide day off, and Gavin honestly didn’t know what to do with it. He’d been going at the Oneiros case like a dog after a squirrel, and he wanted nothing more than to find the motherfucker, but the fucking federal government had taken control of the case and left the scraps for the DPD. </p><p>So, currently, Gavin couldn’t do anything except sit on his ass and wait for whatever government shithead was running the case to tell him what to do. Which as of that day, was radio silence. Nothing. Which meant Gavin genuinely didn’t have anything to do-- Fowler didn’t give him any more cases, for some reason. It felt like the first time this had happened in months. Maybe even a year, but the rarity of the situation didn’t change the fact that Gavin hated it, hated not being able to do anything. It was like when they needed the approval to investigate Andronikov’s mansion, except a million times worse because even if <em> he </em> couldn’t do anything, <em> no one </em> could do anything. And that’s just the difference, isn’t it, because now he couldn’t help but the feds could trample all over his case like it was nobody’s business. </p><p>The day off could be a blessing or a curse, and for a hot hour or so before Connor texted him Gavin was convinced it was the latter. Like, not only was he restless, but there was fuck all he could do about it either. Sure, he did what he could to try and stay on top of the stress, but the reminder that he was functionally useless always came back to punch him in the gut no matter how many times he told himself to just breathe. Usually he had someone to antagonize to release some steam, but lately he’d found that idea less and less appealing, so he’d be stuck with stewing in his own rot.</p><p>Connor’s text was a welcome distraction, to say the least, and Gavin had asked if he had anything else he wanted to talk about in hopes he’d suggest they did something together. A flying lesson was perfect, better than perfect, even, but it brought up a dilemma that Gavin had recently found himself in.</p><p>He hadn’t done jack shit for Connor’s ‘human’ lessons or whatever. They had a deal-- Connor taught him to fly, and in return he’d teach Connor how to be… human. Which when he thought about it, nice and good, didn’t make a lick of sense. It didn’t seem that Connor was particularly bad at being human-- or that he wanted to pass as human at all. For Pete’s sake, the guy had kept his fucking LED until it was forcibly removed from him! He wasn’t even all that weird-- sure he was a little odd, but only in a ‘I was an only child’ sort of way-- nothing that would warrant wanting to fit in so badly that he’d go to a man that despised him (at the time) and make a goddamn deal with him. Like, what the fuck?</p><p>Gavin had no idea what to do. A ‘human’ lesson would seem degrading, right? Connor just wasn’t human. And Connor knew that, and recognized it, and even if it made people uncomfortable he shouldn’t have to bend over backwards for their convenience. Like that stupid track and field chick they’d run into when Gavin had a hangover-- Connor had tried to apologize for the confrontation, when he had nothing to apologize for. A human lesson would just be an apology, wouldn’t it? And maybe the lack of ‘humanity’ lessons was partially borne of Gavin’s neglect of the issue, but maybe he could convince himself part of it was how uncomfortable a lesson like that would be.</p><p>He did one of them, but that was more like hanging out with friends and experiencing the human experience, not teaching him how humans act, and react, and shit like that. That would be… cruel didn’t sound right, but it carried the right connotation.</p><p>Even so, a flying lesson, while potentially fucking terrible, sounded like a great way to stop thinking about everything for a short while. Even if it would most likely end up with him beaten up or bruised, it was fine. Connor was nice enough to offer, and he’d be stupid not to accept, especially since his job was still technically at stake (even if the chances of getting exposed for not being able to fly at this point were very slim because, well, he wasn’t doing anything). </p><p>When he wasn’t freaking out about his current situation, Gavin had taken time to try again to cook an egg for breakfast, with limited success, but it was better than last time-- less rubbery, at least. He forced himself to eat it for some peace of mind. He even picked back up the robotics textbook in hopes it’d distract him, but the content was so beyond him it did jackshit.</p><p>He’d gotten around to washing the shit out of his and Connor’s clothes the other day, and he was fucking glad about it, too. Not only could he start wearing his prized jacket again, he could also give Connor his blazer back. It would make sense that someone would have more than one blazer if it was an integral part of their wardrobe, but then again, Connor didn’t make a lot of sense and therefore seemed to actually own only one. For the past two weeks or so Connor had ditched it, and probably not my choice. Gavin was tempted (for only a minute) to just… not give it back. Not because he wanted it-- it wouldn’t even fit him, surely-- but because Connor looked so ridiculously handsome in the button up shirts he’d been sporting. Most of them were the usual white, but three days ago Connor had showed up in a solid baby blue shirt and all of Gavin’s brain cells went out the window. Not that he was using them or anything, with the FBI being stupid pieces of shit.</p><p>But, alas, he wouldn’t keep Connor’s property from him like a douche or anything, so he was planning on giving him back his clothes today now that Connor had offered a flying lesson.</p><p>His pocket buzzed. Speak of the devil. </p><p>
  <b>Connor (10:00): I’m outside. I brought Sumo, I hope you don’t mind.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (10:00): Nah it’s fine.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (10:00): Did you take Sumo to the hospital with you???</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (10:00): He wanted to see Hank.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (10:01): And they let you??</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (10:01): In a way. </b>
</p><p>Gavin laughed to himself. Did Connor fucking sneak a whole ass dog into a hospital? It would be terribly, terribly on brand of him. Whatever Cyberlife bozos who gave him his uncanny stealth ability must be crying themselves to sleep with such a hilarious misuse of it. </p><p>Slipping on his shoes and grabbing Connor’s clothes, he slid out his door and down the flights of stairs with some semblance of excitement for the lesson. It had been a while since they’d had a lesson, maybe three weeks or so, and Gavin was ready to try and get further than just a takeoff.</p><p>Gavin was only slightly annoyed when he spotted Sumo sitting smugly in the passenger’s seat, so he slid into the backseat of the car.</p><p>“Good morning!” Connor said cheerily. Shifting Hank’s car into drive, he skillfully maneuvered them onto the main roads with a pleasant disposition. Gavin handed the neatly folded pile of clothes to Connor, who accepted them gratefully and tucked them under the passenger’s seat. “Oh! Thank you, Gavin.”</p><p>From the back seat, Gavin gave Connor a playful whack on the shoulder. “Someone seems to be in a good mood.”</p><p>They caught eyes for a moment in the rear-view mirror. “Indeed, Sumo does seem pretty happy to have seen Hank today,” he said, mischief in his eyes. At Gavin’s unimpressed stare he continued, “It just seems like a good day, you know?”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess.” Gavin said. “It’s as good as you make it, is what I’ve been told.”</p><p>Considering that, Connor nodded. “That’s some good advice.”</p><p>---</p><p>The parking lot was empty just as usual, but the little tufts of grass and miscellaneous shrubbery that had poked through the crevices in the asphalt the last lesson were now full fledged plants, with all sorts of different leaves and seed blooms decorating their stems. It made the whole lot look kinda raggedy, but also seeing the desolate space flourish with life after a cold winter filled him with something warm. </p><p>Carefully wrapping and tying Sumo’s leash around a metal pole in the ground, Connor gave the dog a good scratch behind the ears and parted with a few murmured words. Striding to a few feet in front of Gavin, Connor clasped his hands together and began to lead him through some simple wing stretches. </p><p>They felt good, which made sense, and Gavin would do them more often if it weren’t for the limited space in his apartment. Truth be told, he’d tried it once, and had knocked over so much shit in his apartment he’d just about needed his insurance. </p><p>He groaned softly as one of the tendons pulled just right, and he held it a smidge longer even after Connor had abandoned the position, seeking out that satisfying burn. When he released, his eyes slid shut as he sighed, feeling the burn replaced by a pleasant wave of warmth. Yeah, that was nice.</p><p>When his eyes opened back up, he caught a sight of Connor, staring while in mid-stretch, with his cheeks tinged blue. Just as fast as Connor shook it off and continued the stretch, Gavin was blushing and trying to follow along, flustered and embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to groan and sigh like <em> that </em>.</p><p>It felt just as good on the other side, but this time he held back any suggestive sounds that might’ve slipped out. It was the same sort of feeling he’d gotten when Connor had fixed up his wings (minus the feather pulling. ouch.) but not nearly as intense-- which brought up the question: hadn’t Gavin been making those same noises when Connor had done that? Or was he miraculously quiet about it? Maybe it was too long ago to remember.</p><p>After running through all the stretches twice, Connor asked him to do a take off.</p><p>Gavin balked. “I barely got one last time.”</p><p>“Try,” Connor said. “You might surprise yourself.”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Gavin stepped back a few steps, then took his stance. After a moment of hesitation, he inched his feet out a few more centimeters. Better. Bending his knees in a squat, he brought his wings out wide and with a deep breath pushed himself off the ground.</p><p>It was a little wonky, a little janky, and he almost landed on his butt, but it was a takeoff nonetheless. When he got his balance back in order, he looked to Connor who had a little bit of a smug look on his face.</p><p>“Told you,” Connor said, smirking like a little shit. “As it turns out, muscle memory tends to be more effective with flying than with any other actions. Interesting, isn’t it?”</p><p>“God damn it, you could have just told me that, asshole.” Gavin said, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I was gonna break my goddamn ankle or something.” He ostentatiously brushed off his pants as if he’d taken a tumble. </p><p>Watching the commotion from afar, Sumo gave a happy boof when Gavin looked his way like Sumo was an active participant who could help him. Sumo just wagged his tail and licked his slobbery chops. Like a dog.</p><p>Connor made a motion for him to do it again. Grumbling, he widened his stance, paused with his wings primed, and took off. It was much cleaner this time, no wobbling or stumbling on his landing. It felt good to get it right-- to get the wind under his wings.</p><p>“The ability to retain muscle memory for flying is likely due to an evolutionary advantage in those who could retain the information over those who could not,” Connor said. “Once we get you in the air, it’ll be short work to keep you there.”</p><p>Gavin’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s. He was going to get off the ground?  “You mean--”</p><p>A little bit of a guilty look crossed Connor’s face. “Not quite. We may get to some flying today, but we need to go over the anatomy of the wings and their purposes again.” He said, like it was the most sensible thing in the world and not stomping down Gavin’s hope.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“We need to review the muscles and their functions.” Connor replied, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.</p><p>Something in him smoldered and bubbled forth at that. “You’re kidding me, Con. We’re so close!” Gavin shook his head, incredulous. Stepping forward, he pointed a finger at Connor. “What’s the fucking issue?! You said it yourself-- once I get off the ground it won’t be so hard!” God! They could get this done <em> today </em>. Months of work could come to a culmination right there, right then. </p><p>Connor’s eyes turned steely as he squared his shoulders in the face of Gavin’s shouts. “It’s not safe, Gavin. You could seriously hurt yourself.”</p><p>“What, like I wasn’t getting hurt last time?” Gavin said. “I was fucking bruised for <em> weeks, </em> Connor. What’s a couple more?”</p><p>Connor shook his head. “It’s different. You could break bones-- get a concussion--”</p><p>“<em> I don’t care </em>! I need to get off the ground, Connor!” He seethed. Didn’t he see? He loved his job-- even if he coudn’t fucking do it in that moment-- and if he wanted any hope of keeping it for the foreseeable future he needed the ability, and soon. But somehow this didn’t feel like he was getting angry over potentially losing his job, as a sharp pang of anxiety elbowed him in the gut. In a brief culmination of his anger, he tilted his head down and gripped his hair, groaning in frustration. “Just-- why are you so eager to keep me here?!” He spat.</p><p>“Why are you so eager to <em> leave </em>?”</p><p>Gavin paused. Connor’s words were quiet, full of emotion yet somehow painfully detached. When Gavin moved his eyes upward, he instinctively looked to Connor’s temple and was met with a sharp reminder that he couldn’t just read Connor like a book anymore, not without the LED. Swallowing his pride just a little, he forced himself to relax and to take a deep breath. Connor didn’t deserve this; he was only trying to help.</p><p>For a moment, Gavin just tried to search for the words to apologize. Connor remained still and cold. Almost expressionless except for the slight downtick of his lips, and that’s when Gavin realized he’d just been getting angry to release some stress, not because he was genuinely mad-- and when he realized that, he felt very, very small, and very cruel.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Gavin said openly. “You only want what’s best.”</p><p>The open and empty parking lot suddenly felt incredibly small, as Connor’s face morphed through several emotions in quick succession-- yet Gavin couldn’t seem to place a single one. He watched as Connor seemed to mull something over in his head. </p><p>“Gavin, I…” It seemed difficult for him to say, like he was straining, and Gavin immediately stepped forward and reached for Connor’s forearm, to which he grasped gently and slid his hands to Connor’s. It was a little bit of a one-eighty, considering he’d been snarling and spitting like Connor had kicked him in the throat only a few minutes ago, but seeing Connor struggle to say something flipped some damn switch in his brain. “...I should be the one apologizing. Your accusation has some merit, after all.” He finished tersely. Guiltily.</p><p>His accusation? “I don’t-- what?”</p><p>“You said I was keeping you here.”</p><p>Gavin still didn’t get it. “What do you mean?”</p><p>Looking down, Connor gently pushed one of Gavin’s hands off his, but kept the other. His skin had already receded to a pristine white, but his hand didn’t waver-- it actually held on tighter as Connor continued, fast and anxious. “When we first made this arrangement, I didn’t think much of it, to be honest. We would get what we wanted, right? But,” his eyes turned sorrowful. “I found myself… wanting your company. At first I denied it, but soon, I couldn’t. I wanted to be around you but you wanted nothing to do with me, and it hurt. But then-- then you started to show this side of you I hadn’t seen and then I realized there was so much to you. Sure, there were bits and pieces when you were sick, but you were fevered and delirious most of the time. And when you showed me <em> you </em> , the <em> real </em> you behind your callous exterior, I-- Gavin.”</p><p>He didn’t know what to say. “You… purposely drew out the lessons, Connor?”</p><p>“To an extent,” He supplied hastily. “A little at the beginning-- after that every part of every lesson  was all necessary.” He brought his other hand up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have deceived you. It was wrong of me, and if you’re angry I understand.” The android’s eyes slid downward to the ground, and Gavin was momentarily given deja vu back to that night in his apartment after Hank was hospitalized.</p><p>As it usually was after one of them spoke from the heart, it was silent. Not by choice-- Gavin was thoroughly at a loss for words and Connor didn’t seem too keen on exploring his minor misdeeds. Gavin firmly reminded himself that Connor was not an outlet for his stress.</p><p>When he finally found his voice, it was soft, unaccusing. “Connor. Connor, hey, look at me.” He put his hand under Connor chin and titled his face upwards. “Hey, uh, it’s okay, Connor. It is. Look, I wasn’t particularly kind to you for quite some time-- scratch that, I was an asshole, okay? Don’t apologize for… wanting that connection with someone who didn’t reciprocate it.” He paused, gathering himself. “I like spending time with you, too. A lot. Don’t convince yourself that I don’t. I can be prickly and rude, but Connor, don’t let that say anything.”</p><p>Warmth blossomed in Connor’s expression, his eyes suddenly looking more like melted chocolate than a frigid brown. Something equally as warm blossomed in Gavin’s chest, spreading through his sternum and up his neck and wings, and with the feeling his eyes trailed down the bridge of Connor’s nose to his lips where they stayed.</p><p>It’d be easy. Sure, Connor had some inches on him but maybe if he pulled him down just right it wouldn’t be an issue. The physical act of it wouldn’t, at least. He could pull Connor down just a smidge by the fabric of his long sleeved button-up, brush his fingers over the material, and tilt his head just enough so that their noses wouldn’t bump and they could-- well. They <em> could </em>. Would it be a bad idea? For some reason, something in Gavin told him that it’d be amazing--</p><p>But not right now. Maybe another day. The realization that Connor had just confessed to deliberately doing something repeatedly that endangered him and his job brought him back down from whatever fantasy he was lost in. </p><p>He wanted to be angry. He really did. But he couldn’t be angry at Connor for doing something to accommodate his shitty personality. Really-- the whole situation was pretty much Gavin’s fault; if he hadn’t been fucking rude, Connor wouldn’t have been tempted to extend his lesson plan to try and get some sort of decency out of him. </p><p>Though he wasn’t planning on apologizing for that because he was pretty sure he already had, that didn’t mean he felt guiltless about the whole situation. This wasn’t the apology Olympics and he certainly wasn’t an athlete. </p><p>Connor was the first to speak. “What do you want to do?”</p><p><em> Kiss you </em>. “What do you mean?” He asked instead. </p><p>Dropping their entwined hands, Connor opted for crossing his arms a little meekly. “I understand if you don’t want to continue the lesson, but I promise that knowing the structures of the wings is vital to flying, Gavin.”</p><p>“Yeah, I believe you,” He said. Some surprise crossed Connor’s expression. “I wasn’t actually mad about that, by the way. Just stressed out and I took it out on you like a dick.”</p><p>“It’s been a while since you’ve done that,” Connor said good-naturedly. Even if he’d said it like that, it still made Gavin wince at his behavior. Shaking his head he amended, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I meant to point out how little it’s been happening.”</p><p>“Sounds great,” Gavin said, some odd emotion in his voice. “But when I’m not doing that I’m fucking shaking and I can’t breathe, Connor. I just,” when Connor made a move to speak, to probably apologize, he stopped him. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out, but right now? In this moment, a lesson sounds like a fucking fantastic way to cool off.”</p><p>Connor’s eyes lit up. “Of course, Gavin. Would you like a few minutes or--”</p><p>“Connor, please.”</p><p>“Alright,” Connor said, a glint in his eye. “How much do you remember?”</p><p>Oh, god. “Some of it.” He said, a little apprehensive. That gleam in Connor’s eye sent a shudder down Gavin’s back.</p><p>Seeing Gavin’s apprehension, Connor reigned in his mischievous tone, probably not wanting to provoke him after he’d already done so earlier. “Okay, that’s good. What muscles control the upstroke of the wing?”</p><p>“Avis Supracoracoideus.” He replied automatically, surprising himself. </p><p>“And the down stroke?”</p><p>He considered it, this time. He wasn’t quite sure, but what was the harm in guessing? “Avis Pectoralis, right?”</p><p>Connor nodded. “Very good.” Although he spoke well, he didn’t seem all that engaged until he followed it up with, “and the other 12 muscles in the wing?”</p><p>Agh, shit, no wonder it was so simple-- Connor had been going easy on him. Begrudgingly and slowly, he began to list out the muscles, visualizing it top to bottom as it helped him to remember.</p><p>---</p><p>After he’d recited literally every part of a fucking wing-- bones, tendons, muscles, feather types, major blood vessels, etc.-- he felt like he was some sort of leading expert on wing anatomy and could reliably perform surgery in a hospital or something. It was insane. In the dervish that was the past month he’d forgotten some sizable chunks of the information that Connor had nailed into his skull for two months. Connor was forgiving in that he let Gavin keep trying and would help him, but fucking brutal in that once he did get it he’d make him repeat it like a drill sergeant and then repeat the whole process over. </p><p>Several times between recitations, Connor had taken a moment to give Sumo some well-deserved attention. Luckily, the pole and his leash tied to it were in the range of several shady spots, sunny spots, and mixed ones, too. Once, Connor had even opened the trunk of Hank’s car and pulled out a foldable water dish and set it in front of Sumo, who continued to be a satisfied pup.</p><p>Everything took a long time, needless to say, and by the end of it, when Gavin had been able to identify every crack and crevice on a wing, it had been hours and already nearing the far end of the usual amount of time they spent on lessons. When they’d wrapped up anatomy Gavin had started to walk towards Sumo to unhook him from the pole when Connor called out from behind him. </p><p>“Where are you going, Gavin? I have just a little more planned.”</p><p>Sighing, Gavin turned around, fully expecting Connor to ask him more bullshit about anatomy. Instead, Gavin’s eyes squinted as a blast of air hit him in the face, and instinctively he raised an arm to block the wind.</p><p>When his arm dropped, Connor was just landing from what was definitely a gold star takeoff at least fifty feet away, stirring up dust. A yard or so in front of Gavin was Connor’s police-issued gun holster on the ground (minus the gun, of course), and Gavin stepped up to it, throwing his hands in the air in a big motion as if to say ‘the fuck?’</p><p>Cupping his hands around his mouth, Connor shouted across the parking lot.</p><p>“<em> Get to me--don’t touch the ground past my holster! </em>”</p><p>Oh shit. Shit! Was he serious? Gavin stood there helplessly as Connor continued to stand what suddenly felt like a mile away. </p><p>“<em> Try a running head start! </em>”</p><p>That makes sense, he told himself. It’s like a long jump, right? But fifty feet and you can’t touch the ground, which was fine. Absolutely a-okay.</p><p>He took several large steps back, and then hopping a little on each foot and shaking his head he lowered himself down a little, ready to sprint. Obviously just fucking jumping wouldn’t do-- he’d have to do an at least halfway decent takeoff right as he crossed the holster, so while he was moving. </p><p>Digging his shoe into the concrete, he broke off into a sprint, feet thudding against the pavement. Just as he neared the holster, some random memory of him playing basketball and trying to get dunks as a kid frothed up, and he was vividly reminded of all the practice he’d done trying to jump higher while running toward the basket. Maybe that memory wasn’t so random. </p><p>Twisting his foot just like he had then, he bent at the knees while he was moving and with a coordinated motion of his wings, launched himself over the holster and into the air.</p><p>The distance and height he’d launched himself to caused him to fumble to moment, as his stomach flipped sideways and then promptly died in his abdomen. He tumbled to the ground, rolling over the miscellaneous greenery that dotted the pavement. </p><p>“Agh, shit,” He wheezed as he pushed himself off the ground. Peering up, he noted he’d made it a little under halfway just off the running takeoff alone. He let his head drop down to his chest for a moment as he caught his breath, and once he’d mustered up the will to get up, he staggered to his feet and jogged back to the holster without sparing Connor a glance. He was going to get this.</p><p>This time he was prepared for the magnitude of his takeoff and didn’t get spooked by it. Still, having his feet off the ground was a little jarring, but he shook it off and instead took to bringing his wings up (Avis Supracoracoideus) and then down fast and hard (Avis Pectoralis) in a few sharp and fast movements. It was undoubtedly clumsy, like a foal new to the world, but the feeling of having air under his wings, even a little, was--well, divine. It felt right. The moment didn’t last long, however.</p><p>He landed on his feet, stumbling as his speed threatened to tumble him over. With a few hard slaps of his shoes on the pavement, he came to a stop about ten feet in front of Connor, who looked veritably impressed.</p><p>“You’re taking to it faster than I anticipated,” he said, smiling. “I must say, Gavin, your teacher must be proud.”</p><p>Gavin barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Hardy har, asshole.” He said as he turned to jog back. </p><p>Connor continued to watch his following attempts with that same smile and almost proud stature, even if the attempts were largely the same. There was improvement, though, as he didn’t flap so awkwardly like an inflatable tube guy, but he didn’t get much farther until a few attempts later.</p><p>He skidded to a stop only a few feet in front of Connor, this time-- so close that if he took a step forward and stuck his hand out, he could poke Connor’s forehead. So close. Saying a few words of encouragement, Connor shooed him off for another attempt. </p><p>Panting, Gavin took a moment to catch his breath with his hands on his knees when he returned to Sumo’s pole. Sumo looked at him with his big, beady eyes and Gavin had no choice but to take a moment to scratch his jaw and back, just because he was being so polite and patient.</p><p>When he finished giving Sumo the attention he deserved, he turned his attention back to the task at hand: flying short distances. With his usual set up, he sprinted as fast as he could toward the holster and jumped like there was a basketball hoop in front of him, rocketing himself up and forward. He paced his wingbeats carefully, not too fast to become unstable but not too slow to fall to the ground-- just right in the middle, where he propelled himself forward and kept a steady six, seven feet off the ground. It went surprisingly well, this time, as he focused on his movements and not his destination so much.</p><p>That mindset got him where he needed to be, but he had completely forgotten that Connor was right where he was headed. With a shout, he barreled into Connor and pushed him down and he frantically tried to slow himself down.</p><p> Connor yelped in surprise and braced himself as they fell to the ground in a tumble of feathers and limbs, and when they came to a stop Gavin was directly on top of Connor, his hands propping his torso up placed beneath Connor’s arm pits, and his legs straddling Connor’s waist. He felt his face go red in embarrassment, but instead of feeling <em> that </em>, his chest bubbled up with laughter as he smiled wide, Connor soon joining in with the mirth beneath him. </p><p>Still laughing, Gavin pushed himself off to one side of the android, landing somewhat roughly on his back next to him. Once their laughter died down, Gavin brought a hand to cover his eyes as he felt them prickle. Fuck. He’d flown. He’d done it. God fucking damn it, <em> he’d done it </em> . Feeling the wind slice through his feathers and the air underneath his feet disappear-- it was like a puzzle with the last piece finally clicked in. It felt so <em> right </em> . He really had been missing something all his life, something vital, but he's convinced himself he didn’t need it. He <em> hadn’t </em>-- but now that he’d tasted it he couldn’t imagine going without it. </p><p>His throat felt scratchy as it tightened. Very gently, Connor reached over and pulled his hand off his face, and then brought it down between them. Their fingers didn’t interlace-- they just stayed palm-to-palm on the ground, Gavin’s hand pressing into the pebbly concrete under the weight of Connor’s hand-- which had already peeled back to slightly pliable plasteel.</p><p>“Thank you,” Gavin choked, eyes squeezing shut.</p><p>He could almost hear the gears in Connor’s head churning. “You shouldn’t be thanking me,” he said quietly. “I lied to you.”</p><p>If Connor could forgive Gavin for hating his existence, Gavin could sure as hell forgive Connor for Gavin scoffed, trying to brush the heat on his face. “Small potatoes, Con. That was a while ago, and you realized what you did. No issue.” He sniffed, tilting his head to look at Connor with a smile.  “It’s not like you fucking killed anyone, or something.”</p><p>“Oh,” Connor enunciated. “About that…”</p><p>Gavin sat up, eyes wide. “You’re joking.”</p><p>With a hearty laugh that made his eyes squint and his head throw back, Connor shook his head. “I am,” he said, voice full of some sort of cheer. “At least a little.”</p><p>Silence. Tilting his head, Gavin said warily, “Uh, wanna share with the class?”</p><p>“Five. Six, if you count androids.”</p><p>“During the revolution?”</p><p>“Five people, yes. When I infiltrated CyberLife tower,” Connor said, like it was no deal whatsoever. “I shot an android before my work at the DPD.”</p><p>Gavin fell back to the ground with a thump, still not moving his hand from Connor’s. He didn’t say anything, just whistled a low tone from his teeth as if to say ‘ho-ly <em> shit </em>’ without words. He was swiftly reminded again, that even if Connor was a little new to the emotions thing and that might make him seem kinda harmless, he could most definitely snap Gavin’s neck before he could blink. Connor was dangerous, undeniably so, but Gavin couldn’t bring himself to think of Connor any less for it. </p><p>Settling back onto the ground with his wings under him, Gavin said, “That’s something. You fly much before you get deployed to the DPD?”</p><p>Connor tilted himself over to take some of the weight off his own wing, then unfolded it out and forward some. The glossiness of the dark feathers shined under the sun. “Some, but mostly testing.” he admitted. “It’s much nicer to fly in open air, I have noted. More space. More opportunity. It’s..” he swallowed. “Freeing.”</p><p>Identifying with that sentiment, Gavin closed his eyes against the mild spring sun. “That’s a good way to put it, Connor.”</p><p>He took a deep breath in, breathing in the somewhat warm air, the little breeziness of it, and enjoyed the moment for what it was. Serene. Several small chunks of asphalt pressed into his wings and back, and he shimmied to dislodge them.</p><p>Truth be told, Gavin wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for Connor. And not just the physical location-- the mind space, the flying-- hell, even the ability to claim that maybe he wasn’t as much of an unmitigated asshole and dickbag that he used to be. That maybe he could be a halfway decent person, even after all this time of snarling and spitting at everyone and thinking androids were lesser people. </p><p>“Thank you,” Gavin murmured, eyes still closed. “For giving me a chance to change.”</p><p>“You were never a bad person to begin with,” Connor said. His voice was louder in his ear-- Connor had turned his head. “I didn’t change you. You did that yourself, because you <em> are </em>a good person. Remember what I said, about bad people being unchanging? I meant it, and I will continue to stand by it, especially since you’re the prime example of why it’s true.” Shifting closer, so their hands were basically beneath them and their thighs and shoulders were touching, Connor’s voice was quieter as his breath almost ghosted his ear. “You mean a lot to me, Gavin.”</p><p>The breath left Gavin’s lung in one, slow movement. Just as slowly, he tilted his head over, only stopping when his temple laid on Connor’s shoulder. And if Connor squeezed a little closer, resting his cheek on the top of Gavin’s head with a sweet muttering, well, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ok, before anything else--  <a href="https://there-is-not-enough-convin.tumblr.com/">there-is-not-enough-convin (main: dubidadei)</a> on tumblr made not <a href="https://there-is-not-enough-convin.tumblr.com/post/626692367173468160/art-inspired-by-icarus-series-by-pesto">one</a> but <a href="https://there-is-not-enough-convin.tumblr.com/post/626796224601849856/side-piece-to-this-again-go-check-out-icarus">two</a> pieces of art inspired by the fic!! Like, WOW!!! They are genuinely gorgeous!! Seriously, check them out. It's so unbelievably flattering to know my fic has inspired art. Thank you!! </p><p>This week we got a 6k chapter of mostly feel good nonsense, minus the bit in the beginning middle, there. This chapter featured cuddling, flying, revelations, sumo, and connor sneaking sumo into places that big friend shouldn't go. Stuff gets real next week, so buckle in. Thanks for reading and sticking with this fic :)</p><p>Up Next: The Tower (Part 1). The day of Markus's address arrives.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Tower (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The day of Markus's address arrives.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>MARKUS ADDRESS ATTRACTS EXCESSIVE SECURITY</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Live] </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello, I am Sandra Matthews and I am here in Stratford Tower where Markus will be making his first ever international address later this day.” With a dry look, she motions to her surroundings. “As you can see, Markus will definitely not be short on company all the way up here in Stratford’s ‘Broadcasting Deck’, where several dozen FBI and DPD agents are already securing the area prior to Markus’s arrival, by several hours.” Gesturing to the side, the camera turns toward a helmeted individual, the patch on his bulky vest touting an FBI brand. His face is covered by a visor. “These agents have assembled here with President Warren’s blessing, in order to insure that today’s happenings proceed without danger and unrest. Today is an unprecedented day for androids and humans alike, and the world is waiting with bated breath to watch it unfold. Thank you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin shut off his TV with a groan, rubbing his hands together really fast to try and unleash some of his stress. The day of reckoning was upon them-- Markus’s address was later that day and he’d been called in for the time of the actual broadcast. The FBI was lending their own gear for a DPD officer that Fowler offered to help with the security at Stratford-- and the bastard must have recommended him with a glowing review because not only was he one of a few officers to be at Stratford, but the only officer to be in the room during his address. Gavin was seriously at a loss at what Fowler was thinking. Gavin was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> the most reliable person at the precinct. Like, Chris, maybe, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gavin</span>
  </em>
  <span>? What was the captain smoking that made him think that was a good idea?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t gone into work yet that day. He had about and hour or so until he’d have to hike up his hoopskirt, drag his ass to the precinct, zip himself into whatever metal wetsuit the FBI had for him, then stand on guard on high alert to protect a man he couldn’t have cared less about several months ago. Oh, and the best part?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without Connor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fowler wasn’t an idiot (even if offering up Gavin was a stupid fucking move), and it was genuinely a nobrainer to put in a good word for Connor towards the FBI-- after all, who better to protect the deviant leader than a close ally of him? Connor would be perfect, but apparently the FBI didn’t want him on the scene in any shape or form, which was a little concerning. When Gavin had opened his e-mail that morning to check what Fowler had said, he’d been surprised to see himself on the list, and even more surprised to see Connor’s omission. He hadn’t texted the android about it, but he was planning on it soon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Throwing himself backwards into the lumpy back of the sofa, he blindly groped around the side table for a small, heavy object, and when his knuckles knocked it he picked it up and held it between his thumb and the last joint of his index finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small stone, with a slight depression in the center-- Connor had set it in his palm yesterday when they’d met at the precinct. He’d called it a ‘worry stone’, and had given a brief demonstration of himself rubbing his thumb up and down the depression in the dark stone. No explanation of its explicit purpose was never given, but it didn’t take a genius to know it was some sort of stress relieving toy or tool or something. It made Gavin feel a little childish, that he was resorting to something that was a step up from a novelty stress ball-- but he had to remind himself that it technically wasn’t any different from when he’d thumbed at the sticky note Connor had given him, or Connor’s feather that he’d shanghaied all that time ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Both still sat in his bedside drawer.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he had to admit, it wasn’t bad. In a sense. It didn’t do anything bad, but the jury was still out on whether or not it helped much-- even as he used it more and more often. It was awfully kind of Connor to give him it, and he wasn’t going to let that go to waste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d set it on the table when he got home last night, after a whole ‘nother day of doing jack shit at work. The FBI hadn’t found anything extra about Oneiros since Ancaeus showed up at the precinct, so Gavin was left with nothing to do for two weeks. And Fowler wouldn’t even send him out with the cops on patrol due to the disaster that was his time with Chris, so he’d whittled away his time with Connor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He checked his phone. He had half an hour before he had to head out-- so he figured he’d spend that time just like he did at the precinct. Opening his texts, he went to Connor’s name and tapped something out.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>You (7:30): Hey, do you know why you aren’t gonna be at the address today?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (7:30): To be honest, I’m not sure. I’m positive Fowler offered, and Markus told me he’d prefer if I were there, but it doesn’t seem the FBI is letting any more androids besides Markus and Simon on location.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (7:31): You’re kidding. Do you think it’s because Perkins got attacked by androids? Might’ve spooked them.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (7:31): Seems likely. Markus has requested my presence at Jericho today during the address since I cannot be at Stratford. I am currently helping North manage online media for the address.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (7:32): You’re at Jericho already? Damn, that was fast.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (7:32): Maybe you’re just slow. ;-)</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (7:32): Speaking of slow, you’re going to need to leave your apartment in 15 minutes if you wish to make it to the precinct in time. Traffic is ‘fucking hell’, as Hank would say.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (7:33): Hahaa okay. Thanks, Connor.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (7:33): No problem. Stay safe. &lt;3</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The heart was new, and it made Gavin feel some sort of fuzzy way, but he liked it. Fifteen minutes, huh? People must be excited for Markus’s speech or something. The thirty minutes he had planned already had accounted for Detroit’s shitty traffic, but apparently it was so bad to warrant some extra time. Usually, Gavin wouldn’t worry about it-- he was usually late anyways-- but since the FBI would be waiting on him he felt it’d be prudent to at least show up on time to make their decision to pick him seem like not a totally bad idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Realizing he didn’t have as much time as he thought, he tossed a piece of bread in the toaster he’d bought in a garage sale, and worked on getting ready for the day. When he got to clipping his badge, gun, etc. on his belt, he hesitated, wondering if he’d be able to access them under all the equipment they’d strap to him. He clipped them on anyway, figuring it couldn’t hurt. He was out of his front door chewing the last bite of slightly burnt toast and his small worry stone weighing down his pocket, making haste to his car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About ten minutes into his commute, which shouldn’t have been any longer than fifteen minutes long, Gavin realized that Connor wasn’t kidding about needing the extra fifteen minutes to get to the precinct a little early. Had he left when he originally planned he likely would’ve actually been late, instead of early. He internally thanked whatever mental map Connor had to accurately predict the timing as he rolled into the parking area for the precinct, about seven minutes early.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lobby was occupied with a normal amount of people when he entered, throwing a wave toward the receptionist. The bullpen, however, was a different situation entirely. Cops, detectives, FBI, were all milling around with unease and unrest. He stopped Miller from walking past him by sticking a hand out in front of him, and asked, “It been like this all day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miller nodded, looking tired. “Only 8:15 and the whole city’s jumpy and jittery,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lots of calls?” Gavin asked, intrigued but in a morbid sort of way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” the detective said, shrugging helplessly. “Seems like everyone and their grandma is calling about ‘android unrest’, ever since that serial shit got leaked. It got worse today, probably ‘cause of Markus. What a mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kind of comprehending, Gavin retracted his hand. “And because of the serial case, you gotta answer all of them, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Miller made an affirmative noise. “Yeah. They call you in for answering calls?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope, I gotta be with the FBI on this one. Don’t know if that’s better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeez. Good luck with that.” Miller said, and then was on his way out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not liking what that implied, Gavin made his way to Fowler’s office and gave the glass a knock, like Fowler didn’t watch him approach through the transparent material. Not waiting for a response, Gavin swung open the door and stepped in, clearly expressing his distaste for the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, so what’s with me rubbin’ elbows with the FBI?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fowler sent him a long suffering look, and taking his hands off his desk he opted for crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “Honestly, Reed? I have no idea. I’ll admit, you were on the list, but I implied you were a package deal with Connor-- that you’d both go. How they didn’t recognize that I’ll never know, but even as a solo job you were put pretty low on the list of recommended officers. No offense.” Fowler tacked on a little sarcastically, even as he was confused by the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None taken.” Gavin replied, equally as puzzled. “The email said there’d be a rep or something here I’d need to talk to.” Gesturing to the busy precinct he made a vague motion. “Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fowler motioned to where the elevator was in the building. “Second floor. Said they got some gear for you, even though I said you could use our SWAT gear.” As Gavin made a move to leave, Fowler held a hand up, stopping him. “Do me a favor, Reed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I usually tell you to not fuck these things up, and I’m going to tell you the same right now. But on top of that: don’t try and impress the FBI-- wouldn’t want to give them any more of an impression that you’re up for grabs.” Fowler said, and then shooed him out of his office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Gavin guessed that made sense. A lot of sense. Why would they decline the SWAT gear for the FBI gear if they didn’t want him to assimilate to an extent-- in fact, they might see this whole thing as a trial run, if Fowler’s suspicions were true. That didn’t sit well with Gavin. Sure, his closure rate was good-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>really good</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- but he had so many behavior warnings and infractions that it would most definitely be a fat stain on his record. Or maybe, they just didn’t care-- or hadn’t for a while, if Blakes’s behavior was anything to go off of. That sat worse with him, the gross lack of accountability. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t quite know which room the guy was in, but the open door in the hallway of closed doors was a pretty good indication. Slipping in, he was met with the sight of a smallish figure sitting in one of the chairs, slouched over a phone. At his arrival, they bolted up, revealing a dark-skinned woman of a small but sturdy stature, her brown wings posed non threateningly. Her face broke into a polite smile as she stepped forward, hand extended for a shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. My name’s Polly, I’m the agent Cap sent to help you get geared up and around Stratford without harassment. Nice to meet you.” She said, her grin revealing a cheery personality. She was kind enough, Gavin thought, but he wasn’t here to make new friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Detective Gavin Reed.” He replied duly, shaking her hand. She was in FBI clothes, but not the gear that most of their agents would be wearing today-- she just had the jacket with the lettering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After retracting her hand, she took a couple steps back to behind a table, where the FBI’s SWAT gear lay. “You’re one of three agents--” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not an agent</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “--that’ll be onsite during the actual speech.” She pointed at the vest and the lightweight jacket. “Since we aren’t expecting any action up at the broadcasting deck where you’ll be at, we’ll be forgoing any of the really heavy stuff--” she looked up at him and gave him a playful wink, which Gavin tried his hardest not to react to, “-- which is nice because you don’t sweat like a dog in these.” She finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She points at the thigh holster. “In here you can put your firearm. Your police issued one is fine, but we have one of ours if you want.” She said, looking at him expectantly. What she was expecting, he didn’t know, but he shook his head to tell he’d keep his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, she pushed a pile of cloth in his direction. “Here’s the understuff-- just a pair of pants and a shirt. Go ahead and get changed in the other room, and once you’re back we’ll get you suited up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left without a word, but felt a little guilty at how Polly’s expression dropped a little at his refusal to interact. God, now he just felt like an ass. As he put on the clothes she’d given him, just a pair of dark blue pants and a loose long sleeve shirt of the same color, he reminded himself how odd the whole situation was. The FBI didn’t deploy SWAT unless the situation was actively dire or really even did security at all, but that’s exactly what they were doing right now, and now apparently he was a part of it. What a headache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’d gotten the clothing on he was a little weirded out on how well they fit. How’d they get his sizes? They might’ve used his emergency DPD SWAT sizes, but he’d never been deployed with the gear once in his life (because, no matter how far away it seemed, he used to be Unmanifested, believe it or not) and he’d only gotten sized after the whole Revolution business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He quickly transferred his badge and phone to the pocket in the pants, hoping he’d be able to keep them on his person. Folding his clothes neatly, he set his service firearm outside of its holster and grabbed it by the barrel after he’d put the holster on the pile. He exited the room feeling self conscious in all this FBI garb-- he didn’t want any onlookers to get the idea he was happy to do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he entered the room he caught Polly scrolling on her phone again. At least could choose not to be an asshole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knock knock,” he grumbled, hoping to not spook her like he had the first time. Despite his efforts, her head shot up, eyes wide-- like she wasn’t supposed to be on her phone. Internally, he rolled his eyes. To criticize her on her phone usage would be beyond hypocritical. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Noticing that Gavin was just standing awkwardly in the doorway, shucked clothes in arm, she ushered him in and towards the table. With a jolt, Gavin realized there was more on the table now than there was when he’d left. It was just one item, but it made a shiver go down his spine-- an assault weapon, probably selective fire. He had training with them, yes, but he’d never used one on the job before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Polly sent him an apologetic look. “Sorry. It was going to be a part of the table stuff before, but you didn’t seem too thrilled, so I… kept it for later.” She said, shrugging in a way that said ‘I’m sorry but it’s necessary.’ “M4 Carbine-- selective fire, with a strap. Standard stuff, you know.” She took the clothes from his hands and set them on the chair she’d been sitting on. “Everything fit alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin nodded, but kicked himself into his ‘don’t be a dick gear’ after a moment. “Uh, yeah,” he said lamely, missing his jacket already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great!” She said with a smile. His efforts to not be a dick seemed to have been noticed. Sliding the vest off the table, Polly held it with two hands at the shoulders and handed it over to Gavin. He was momentarily surprised by the weight of it, as he misjudged it’s density and let it almost slip out of his hands. With a little bit of a sheepish laugh, Polly said, “Yeah, I know, right? This one’s already packed up with all the stuff. Comm, extra ammunition-- not that you’ll need it--, and some miscellaneous things that you may find useful. Go ahead and rifle through it if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew the invitation was meant to get him to betray a sense of interest in the opportunity, but he genuinely couldn’t help but set the vest back on the table standing up and rummage through the pockets and zippers. “You said this was the light one?” He said, words tinting with a little bit of humor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is, believe it or not. This one’s got no side plates,” in emphasis she stuck her fingers through the straps around the side, “and it doesn’t have the under-wing backpack either. Trust me, that’s the killer. It’s like carrying around a fat child on your back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin barked out a laugh, not expecting that. He cut it off so it didn’t send the wrong message, but he had to admit that was pretty funny. The electric geometric display on front displayed a clean ‘FBI’, but it seemed there was a button on the side to turn the display off if need be. Pressing it, his eyebrows raised as instead of turning off, the display switched to a black and white version-- not backlit, like an original Gameboy or something. He put the display back to the original version, then moved to the pocket right above it, which held a poncho and some miscellaneous supplies. On the outside left of the vest right above where his heart would be was the comm radio, and in the open pockets in the bottom were ammunition, a flashlight, and some sort of high tech glow-stick. On the side, where apparently the side plates were missing, he was pleased to find strap-cuffs, though he would’ve preferred his own cuffs. When he turned it around, there was just more display on the back plate, with two padded wing slots that appeared to be unzippable for ease of use.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Overall, it was a sexy fucking piece of work, but in reality, there was nothing sexy about the FBI. Nodding to Polly, she began sorting the other items on the table, presumably in order of which he’d have to put on. “You know how to put it on?” She asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the most part.” and then thinking better, he continued. “Might need some help with the wings, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he began to unbuckle the bits and pieces, Polly rounded the table to help him when he needed it. “The wing slots are meant to be one size fits all,” she said, leaning on the table. “But to be honest, if your wings are any bigger or smaller than a few measurements of the norm, it starts to suck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin figured she’d understand-- her wings seemed to be pretty small, which probably kept her pretty spry and quick in the air. “What type?” He asked. He was afraid the question was too vague but Polly seemed to understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“B-four,” she said. “Not waterproof, unfortunately, but what can you do. And you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Floundering, Gavin froze on the spot for a second. “I-- uh,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh jeez!” she exclaimed, face scrunching up as she smacked the heel of her palm to her forehead. “Sorry, I should’ve guessed you wouldn’t know ‘cause of the whole Manifestation thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew about his Late Manifestation? Unconsciously, the feathers on the ridges of his wings ruffled with his unease. The DPD tried to keep a pretty tight wrap on the whole situation, to avoid unwanted attention, but he guessed he shouldn’t be surprised that the FBI knew. Silently, and a little awkwardly, he pulled on the lightweight jacket and after a moment’s thought, cuffed the sleeves a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry,” she said, relaxed. “I’d be pretty surprised if you were anything lower than an A-1 or A-2.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had misinterpreted his discomfort in a pretty endearing way. “Thanks. Can you--” he stopped when he got the vest over his head and unbuckled one shoulder to make the wing slots available. Polly was on her feet immediately, and she took the back plate in her hands and held it firm while Gavin positioned his wings in place. Without Polly, it likely would have been a much bigger fiasco, but having her in the back to unzip the back and zip it back up when he’d stuck his wings through definitely was a huge help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She released the back plate once she’d pushed it firmly on his back and stepped away as Gavin rebuckled the side and shoulder back in place. Twisting his torso, he tested his range of movement and was pleased to find it wasn’t too inhibiting besides its weight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Polly handed him the thigh holster, which he took and affixed to his right leg. Sliding his DPD firearm in the thigh holster felt a little weird, since he’d always used the one on his belt. It was secure, he determined after a little jiggle of the holster. Right after he’d looked back up Polly was already handing him another item-- another thing that wasn’t on the table before. A pair of black gloves, which wasn’t nearly as alarming as the M4 Carbine she’d sprung on him. He took them with a muttered thanks and slipped them on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at the large firearm with thinly veiled disdain. Polly didn’t move to hand him it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sliding it off the table, he grabbed it by the forward grip and the strap and slung it over his shoulder so the heavy weapon was pointing downwards on his chest. As he did this, Polly efficiently suited herself up and slung her gun over her back with ease. “All ready?” She asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup,” Gavin said pleasantly. While he may be forcing himself into an agreeable disposition, let it be known that Gavin Reed did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to canoodle with the FBI, much less the FBI while they were in the top floors of one of the tallest buildings in Detroit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin trailed behind her as she led them out of the precinct. He was acutely aware of all the looks his coworkers were sending-- not nice ones, at that. “So, uh,” he started. “I thought FBI’s SWAT was only applied in very… dire situations,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Polly nodded, glancing over her shoulder to let him know she’d heard. “You’d be right in that assumption.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what’s different?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few things,” she said. “One of them is the FBI’s involvement with a case that has strong connections with the address today. Another is that President Warren wanted to ensure it went smoothly and show government support for the androids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah.” Gavin remarked blandly. “That would do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Polly laughed. “Yeah, it would. Ready to head out for Stratford?” she said as she pushed open the doors to the precinct.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready as I’ll ever be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a terrible feeling about all this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tina (9:03): &lt;img.511&gt; looking like hot shit, gav!!! whoo baby, if connor were here to see this...</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (9:03): lmao. Can’t talk. Got my ‘hot shit’ FBI shit to do.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Tina (9:03): gl my guy</b>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Gavin set foot on the ground floor of Stratford Tower, he belatedly realized he’d left the worry stone Connor had given him in his jacket, which was currently sitting on a chair in the DPD. At least his badge was still sitting in his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Polly led him through the lobby and to the elevators, to which they rode to a floor on the top fifth of the building. Gavin swallowed thickly. There was idle conversation between them-- how’s your job, music tastes, stuff like that. It seemed that Polly didn’t enjoy empty air and would bite and claw to keep a silence from forming. To be honest, it was a little annoying, but Gavin wasn’t about to tell her off because that’d be a dickish move, no matter how much he wanted to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stratford was </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like, a behemoth on steroids-- and this was only exacerbated by the length of the elevator ride up coupled with the little sign in the elevator telling him they were travelling at thirty miles an hour-- upward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the elevator finally came to a crawling stop, and the doors slid open, Gavin just about jumped out with nerves, but he held himself back. As he stepped out, he was immediately hit with a wave of natural light-- almost every wall on the outside side of the building was a giant glass window. Very modern, but also very unnerving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, this is where I gotta ditch ya,” Polly said, sticking her hand out for another handshake. As he took it Polly continued. “Nice to meet you, Detective.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Likewise, Polly.” He replied, dropping her name to try and make it seem like he didn’t want to run away from her. She turned and re-entered the elevator, and with a wave as the doors closed, she was gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost sighed in relief. She made him uncomfortable, how she was treating him like a friend and an FBI agent rolled into one, alongside her occasional slips that she knew a lot more about Gavin than met the eye. The whole situation gave him the creeps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Following the wide hallway, lit only by the sky’s own sun beating through the windows, Gavin came across a door with two people (who he assumed were Stratford workers), who let him in wordlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It appeared that this was the place the broadcast would be taking place-- sets of professional cameras were set up in a semicircle around a plain but tasteful backdrop. No one was standing in front of them. The room was lit brightly like the rest of the floor, but it appeared like there was a remote shutter system that would darken the room at a moment’s notice and put the studio lights to good use.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone in similar gear to him was standing facing away from the windows behind the cameras. They acknowledged him with a nod, the visor of his helmet flashing in the light. The helmet was a little out of place, but who was he to police the FBI on dress code, right? He was just here to spectate and make sure things went smoothly while robo-jesus talked on international television to millions of people. Piece of cake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must be Detective Reed,” a familiar voice rang out. Speak of the devil, huh? He turned to see the man of the hour, Markus Manfred, extending his hand for a friendly handshake. He took it, and noted that he felt like he’d shaken hands more times that day than the past three years of his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Gavin said, pulling his hand away. Markus held himself proudly but amiably as he led Gavin to the other side of the room, where one of his buddies (Simon?) was standing and conversing with a technician. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The android leader looked at him with a pleasant regard. “Connor’s said a lot about you.” he said with a veiled knowing look. “I was glad to hear that the FBI was bringing one of Connor’s friends in when he said he wasn’t selected to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Gavin said. “I was surprised too. You’ve been informed about the whole situation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you mean the Oneiros situation, then yes.” Markus said. “Simon has been informed as well. It’s… disturbing, and Jericho has been on high alert the case was marked as serial.” Markus stepped to one of the window-walls and stared out, at the growing civilian presence below and the late morning scenery. He seemed a lot older than he was-- or looked, he guessed. Pretty weathered. Though Gavin could guess it’d take someone with unrivalled chutzpah to stare down the rifle barrels of the national guard and still somehow come out on top. Gavin stepped with him to stand to his left but slightly behind him as Markus continued speaking. “I guess an android killing androids isn’t much different from humans killing humans, but it’s jarring to think of someone using their newfound freedom in such heinous ways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon, who apparently had finished talking to the technician, piped in from behind them. “Then it’s a good thing we’ve got one of the best detectives in Detroit in Jericho currently.” He stated. “No offense, Detective.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None taken.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin recognized the implication. Markus didn’t send Connor to Jericho for media management or whatever, he’d sent him there to investigate what he could on Oneiros, even after the FBI turned up empty handed. Huh. It seemed that the deviant leader was a little craftier than his peaceful political stance implied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin sighed, anxiously shifting the strap of the gun he wore. “Hope he finds somethin’. I’m sick and tired of just waiting around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand the sentiment.” Markus said. Somehow, that felt extremely loaded-- and Gavin mentally punched himself. Of course Markus would want to be doing more. He’s a fucking revolutionary leader! Probably wants to secure more rights for his people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon jumped in, sensing the lull. “I heard you’re Connor’s partner, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not really.” Gavin said, shrugging. “Hank’s still his partner, I’m just on the same case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” he remarked, tilting his head. “Connor speaks of you like you’re a lot closer than just coworkers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coughing into his hand, Gavin very purposely kept staring forward out the window. He heard Simon rustle and murmur a quiet ‘oh’, and Gavin’s face burned in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Markus picked it up from the space Gavin’s silence had left. “Still, Connor thinks pretty highly of you, Detective.” with a little bit of glint in his eye, he looked at Gavin as he said, “would you tell him to visit Jericho more often? He’s always welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait, that didn’t sit right with Gavin. The last time Connor had been at Jericho (minus today) had been their first meeting with Ancaeus, and he’d been freaked out by everyone, and vice versa. “Really?” Gavin said, voice a little sharp. “‘Cause the last time we were there it seemed like everyone wanted his fucking head to cave in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corners of Markus’s lips tightened as his eyebrows furrowed and he looked downwards slightly. “I wasn’t aware that grudges were still being held.” he said solemnly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grudges?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He used to hunt deviants, you know.” Simon informed. “Some people were really affected by his time under CyberLife’s influence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hated him because he hunted them. The fact dawned on Gavin in one, fast wave, and he felt pretty damn dumb. It was obvious, when he thought about it. But Markus and Simon seemed so comfortable with him-- but that’s ‘cause they knew him. The only Connor the general members of Jericho knew was the one that threatened their lives. “Fucking CyberLife.” He groused. “Always fucking everything up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s one way to put it,” Markus said with a wry smile. “Sometimes I wish I could phrase things like that during the address. Actually, maybe--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Markus</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Simon warned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m joking,” he laughed, mismatched eyes squinting with the force of his smile. “But CyberLife is… terrible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, it was. Elijah’s stupid brotherly face popped up in his mind uninvited. At least CyberLife had a somewhat more reliable asshole leading it, now, even if he was totally weird and a little out of touch. He had Chloe to keep him in check, anyways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His pocket buzzed just as a concerned look crossed Markus’s face. Pulling it out, he understood why Markus looked like someone walked over his grave.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (10:23): There is no android named Oneiros that has ever taken residence in Jericho, despite Ancaeus’s claims of co-residency. Please be careful.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s just great, isn’t it?” Gavin breathed. Shaking his head, he pocketed his phone and ran a gloved hand through his hair, wishing he’d brought the worry stone in some capacity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither Markus nor Simon said anything in response, but it seemed they both knew what he was talking about. Instead, they just exchanged a dark look and then turned their attention back to the stirring masses below. It was an awfully large in-person turnout-- if Gavin could recall correctly, they were going to be using the exterior screens as well as some sort of audio rig at the base of the tower. Actually, it was a little peculiar that Stratford was letting Jericho use the building after they effectively infiltrated and trespassed the entire property during the Revolution. He itched to ask Markus or Simon how they got this opportunity, but he firmly told himself that it would have to wait another day-- the broadcast was scheduled to begin in only a few minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was nice to meet you, Detective Reed,” Markus said as he began to be ushered away by technicians and camera people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin nodded. “Nice to meet you, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon turned to him and smiled, a little frazzled around the edges. “Off he goes. Thank you, Detective.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Gavin could get him to clarify just what he was being thanked for, Simon relegated himself to the far end of the room, by a bunch of technology to spectate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s gut settled heavily as one of the other two FBI agents in the room stationed him on the opposite wall than the backdrop, behind the cameras by quite a bit. One other was stationed in a position mirrored of him, across the room, and the third one was placed at the door to the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not quite liking how primed and ready the agents were holding their firearms, Gavin made sure the safety of his own was on, and then slid it over his head and then back on, this time with the gun on his back, between his wings. It rested there a little uncomfortably, the back grip digging into the spot here his wing met his back, but he didn’t move it even as the agent as the door shot him a curious look. He could suck it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The helmeted agent continued to look forward even as Gavin pretty blatantly gave a metaphorical ‘fuck you’, and Gavin rolled his eyes and turned forward to watch the address.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The digital clock on the wall read 10:26. Four minutes until the start of the address, and Gavin felt his nerves sing with tension and heart try and somersault up his throat. He forced himself to focus on the minor details in the room to try and distract himself, at anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed that they were going for the natural lighting from the windows, ‘cause no one activated the shutter system. When the backdrop behind Markus dropped to reveal the skyline view of Detroit, Gavin couldn’t help but admire the view a little. Sure, the height was a little disconcerting, but it was nice nonetheless. To combat the strong natural backlight, a few white photography lights, the big square ones, were illuminated to make the deviant leader more visible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The comm on his chest crackled as someone started to talk over it. Hastily, he stuck the wireless earpiece in his ear and caught the check-in. Hernandez, present. Kraus, present. Powell, present.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reed, “Present,” he said, pressing the small button on the bottom of the comm box.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the check in had ended at Zhang, the comm went silent for a moment until another crackle sounded out, and a different voice poked through, clearer.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Try and look alive, boys. And Powell, of course. This ain’t exciting, that’s for sure, but Warren wanted us here so here we are.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A feminine voice responded. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Thanks for the recognition, Skip. But also shut up about ‘exciting’. Unexciting, my ass-- at least you got the Broadcasting Room.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s eyes shot up to see that the agent at the door with his hand on his comm. So that was Skip. He let his eyes slide to the helmeted agent, who was looking down and shaking his head-- presumably in humor. He caught the edge of a smile under the extended visor, so he was right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skip hopped back on the radio. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll have you know,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“that you’ll be seeing exactly what we’re seeing in a few minutes.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey, hey,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone else said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t you have the DPD guy up there? What’s he like-- is he cute</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” he finished with a snicker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin scoffed and pressed the comm button. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Why don’t you come see for yourself, asshole.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw Skip almost double over with laughter across the room, as he pointed a finger at Gavin and tried to stifle any sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wh-- wait what? He’s on our comms? Was no one gonna tell me that?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now you’ve done it, Lopez.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The woman said, presumably Powell. Gavin had to force himself not to start snickering nervously along with Skip, so he rolled his shoulders and wings to try and hide it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The radio crackled as Skip tried and failed several times to say something without laughing. Gavin would watch as he brought his hand to the button to talk into the comm, but his face would scrunch up and his lips would disappear right as he pushed it, so he would take his hand away and try again, and the process would repeat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin felt himself relax a little at the friendly bantering over the comms, though his heart still thudded like a rabid rabbit in his ribcage.  It was reminiscent of his and Tina’s conversations when Gavin wasn’t freaking out about something, and the familiar syntax of it all made Gavin think that maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. This whole address would go fine, and then he could go home and watch the FBI suck at their jobs with a bowl of popcorn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman, Powell, was the first to jump in as Skip was basically choking himself over the comm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s your name, Mr. DPD?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s a terrible first name, man.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Gavin said. “My first name is Gavin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“There it is!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She exclaimed, a smile in her voice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“‘Gavin.’ How’s that, Lopez, hunky enough for you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lopez made an affronted noise through the static. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“C’mon, Powell—“</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wait wait wait, isn’t that the guy Blakes was constantly bitching about?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Powell interrupted, pausing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I have never been happier for someone to get kicked off the team—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Chatter, you three. Stop harassing the officer.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> a new, deeper voice joined. He watched as Skip seemed to sober up pretty fast. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Seriously. If I hear a peep out of one of you during the address, I won’t hesitate to suspend you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry, Cap.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Skip said.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If you’re really sorry, you won’t speak for the next hour and a half while Markus is talking. Capiche?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Loud and clear.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Good,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> their captain responded. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s about to begin. Stay sharp, agents, ‘cause I got a hunch.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>What the fuck des that mean? Suddenly, all the tension that had worked out of Gavin due to the distracting conversation hit him full force, tenfold. His mouth dried up, and the large firearm on his back felt heavier than a ton of bricks. Skip shifted nervously as well, brows furrowed-- but didn’t say anything in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun was too bright. One of the technicians counted off from five, and when he hit one, Gavin expected a bomb to go off or something, but instead a chime played over the speakers in the room and the address began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched Markus’s mouth move with alarming clarity-- every twitch of his mouth as he spoke, every micro expression-- Gavin felt as if they were taking over his every sense. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to continue examining the room around him to keep him grounded and out of his own head </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clock read 10:30, and he caught it just as it switched to 10:31-- he tore his eyes away, uncertain that if he began counting the minutes that he’d be able to stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him was a table full of equipment-- lenses, tripods, microphones, some sort of high tech case that probably carried something fragile and expensive. He was discreet about looking at the table, because turning his back to the room would be an explicitly dumb and incompetent move-- even for a DPD cop, let alone a cop posing as an FBI agent. It would restrict his view of the room to an alarming degree, and Gavin wanted to keep an eye on everything going on, just to satiate his paranoia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He idly listened to Markus’s speech as his ears occasionally roared, his mild voice somehow cutting through the air with a commanding tone worthy of a world leader. Markus spoke of many domestic things-- the bills and protections getting passed, the ones already passed, and how the world around them could help. Some of the speech was recognizable-- in that it was similar to his other domestic addresses that Gavin had tuned into once and again. It was clear that he was a gifted speaker, With a little thought you could guess that he had every word planned out in advance, but he did such a gifted job of masking the planned nature of his words that it felt completely natural.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was a little busier than Gavin would’ve liked. Around a dozen people there to ensure the broadcast went smoothly were standing behind the cameras, occasionally milling around to check the sound levels or adjust a camera position. What they did was block Gavin’s view of Markus, and the rest of the room. When he could, he’d catch a glance of Skip watching the android speak with devoted attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s head whipped to the side as the helmeted agent shouldered the strap of his Carbine, the clacking of the gun catching his attention. The agent didn’t move any more than that and continued to watch Markus, not seeming to notice Gavin’s stare. Internally, Gavin told himself to calm the fuck down. The strap was uncomfortable as hell, and he shouldn’t be pissing himself over the guy adjusting it for comfort-- hell, the action of watching him adjust the strap made Gavin notice how it was digging into his neck, so he followed suit and adjusted it, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forcing himself to breathe, his hand found its way into his pocket and he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb on the crevices and grooves in his badge. He missed his jacket; the lightweight one he was wearing under his vest that Polly had given him was itchy around the neck, and he desperately wished he had Connor’s worry stone. Even as he touched his badge and forced himself to examine his surroundings, Gavin couldn’t deny his mounting anxiety as Connor’s foreboding text echoed through his head like a gunshot in a valley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oneiros didn’t exist in Jericho’s registry, despite Ancaeus’s implications. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their only lead anywhere in this entire case had been mistaken in some way or another, and that thought made sweat drip down Gavin’s back. How far away from catching Oneiros were they? How much longer until he finally got his hands on any more ‘droids, or hell, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Markus</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flinched as the chime sounded again over the intercom speakers in the room-- announcing a commercial break. A quick glance as the digital clock informed Gavin that it had been thirty minutes since the address began. It was now 11:00 AM, and the lull in action was accompanied in a lull of the terrible pace of his breathing heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone stated loudly that there was now too much natural light, and that it was too bright for the cameras. In response, Gavin watched as one of the technicians reached under one of the grounded desks and, presumably pressing some sort of switch or button, lowered the shades on the windows with a solid metal whine to about halfway. The original lighting guy gave a thumbs up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His comm crackled in his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Whooah, we’re one third there, whooah, livin’ on a prayer--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Skip! What did I say?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry, sorry.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this chapter was originally over 15k words long, so after a swift chop to the neck I halved it in two-- which means in order to try and keep some momentum with this whole chapter I will be posting the second half on tuesday or wednesday. I was happy to feature Simon and Markus in this chapter, but I really never write them so I tried to keep it light. </p><p>I tried to make the other FBI agents interesting enough but not too overbearing. Thought it'd be fresh to try and give some insight into what the rest of the world is, I guess. There not there any longer than The Tower chapters, so no worries. Just liked the general levity they brought and how out of place they made gavin feel-- also to show how not seriously they're taking the situation.</p><p>Stay tuned for the second half, 'cause shit goes down. Thanks for reading!</p><p>Next Up: The Tower (Part 2). Gavin's hunch may have had some merit to it after all.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Tower (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gavin's hunch may have had some merit to it, after all.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Gavin shook his head with a slight upturn of his lips. Turning his eyes to the room, he watched Markus walking away from the camera’s focus and behind them to where Simon was standing, and they exchanged a few words before Simon walked past Skip and out the door, probably to go grab something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He noticed with a slight jolt that the digital clock was counting down, but he also realized a little slowly that it was probably counting down until the commercial break ended. The fact that the length of time between breaks was a full half hour was a little impressive— most media conglomerates only had about fifteen minutes of actual content before they switched to commercials, so the channels they were broadcasting to must’ve changed their schedules pretty drastically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five minutes of ads are all they got, and there was only about half of that time left ticking down. Markus didn’t do much else during the break besides speak with Simon, but he did exchange a few words with a technician or two before turning back to the mess of cameras. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clock said thirty seconds, and Markus was ushered back to his spot where all the cameras could see him. As the clock hit zero, the familiar chime sounded out and there was a brief moment where a camerawoman held up her hand for Markus to wait, then waved it in a circle to get him to begin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whereas the first third of the address was structured similar to his other addresses, the second third was revealing itself to be about android sentience and how it came to be, at least in Detroit. He name dropped Cyberlife at least three times, which brought a smile to Gavin’s face even as his stomach twisted itself in knots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shutters were halfway down, so they’d illuminated Markus with more videography lights-- and Gavin could guess that Markus couldn’t see past the cameras due to the glare. Only slightly alarming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck! The helmeted dude adjusted his strap again, messing with Gavin’s nerves. Calm the fuck down, you idiot! His nail scraped against the edge of his badge in his pocket. He couldn’t bring himself to check his phone, lest he fret over Connor’s text and wig out too much, plus he didn’t want to take his eyes off the room. He caught a glimpse of Skip at the door, except he seemed more tired than interested, now, after his captain told him off for singing into the comm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all seemed pretty unprofessional for the FBI, to be honest, which felt a little neglectful of the task at hand. Calling it boring, joking over comm, seemingly falling asleep on their feet (at least in Skip’s case)-- it poked his paranoia that the people in the room seemed increasingly unprepared for anything dangerous. At least Helmet Guy seemed to be paying attention (though with the visor down, he could be asleep on his feet, too). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he anxiously adjusted the strap on his chest, lips pulled into a grimace with his eyebrows unintentionally drawing together. He sucked on his teeth. Scratched the back of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sweat pooled on his back, and it wasn’t because of the jacket and heavy vest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he felt sick, and he was so fucking mad at himself for it, but he couldn’t help his instincts screaming </span>
  <em>
    <span>danger, danger, wrong, wrong wrong wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the volume of an entire stadium of spectators. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wished Connor was here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor would know what to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right as the second half of the speech started to venture into foreign territories, when the topic started to phase from the U.S. 's androids' sentience and to the possibility of foreign android sentience, he heard Helmet Guy adjust his strap again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin was so fucking fed up with his bullshit he turned his head to shoot a withering glare and maybe cuss him out a little, too, address be damned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped halfway through his turn and froze, cautiously moving back to his forward position but never, not once, taking his eyes off the agent ten feet to his left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steeled his gaze and clenched his jaw to keep him from shouting out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The agent continued to look forward -- at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Markus</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- and adjusted not the strap, but the firearm itself. Holding his breath, Gavin desperately hoped that it was his imagination, the product of a frayed mind, that the agent was gripping his gun and was very slowly, very meticulously, raising the barrel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a dry mouth, Gavin watched in quiet horror, still holding on to the increasingly unlikely situation in which the agent was adjusting the selective fire M4 Carbine in a way that very purposely contradicted basic training and safety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath was coming in short, fast huffs now, and his hands and feet went numb.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The barrel moved upwards, more.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>And more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And more. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It inched its deadly gaze forward, and back, and then came to rest on a singular point, still.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Very, very still.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin crept his hand backwards, gripping something heavy behind him with numb, white knuckles. He should do something, he should do something <em>now--</em><br/></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He carefully pinned his wings tightly to his back, the pokey gun the last thing on his mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A measured breath in. Out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes were straining from looking as far as he could to the left without moving his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swallowed. The safety audibly clicked off. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Three things happened in quick succession:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One: He lobbed the heavy object at the agent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Two: Like a whip crack, a gunshot sounded out in the small space.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three: And with a crash, several weighty objects tipped over and a window shattered-- screaming followed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His aim had been true-- the object he’d grabbed, a solid camera lens, had crunched against the wrist of the agent, skewing the aim upwards and to the side, where the gun discharged into one of the glass window-walls. The bullet left only a spiderweb, but someone began to flee and pushed over a camera that would come to fall into the broken window and shatter it completely, sliding outside and tumbling to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While this was happening, Gavin bolted to Markus and shoved him behind a heavy cart of equipment, clearly getting the message across to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get out</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skip yelped in shock as Gavin dove behind another cart away from the door, but realized the importance of getting Markus through the door he was guarding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rogue agent’s gun rose to fire at Skip, but Gavin whipped out his service pistol and fired a few sloppy rounds over the cart, not to hit him but to get his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hoped it worked, because he caught a glimpse of the door slamming open and Markus sliding through in the reflection of the window-- but another two gunshots rang out and they weren't at him. He heard a shout and a thud as Skip took a bullet to the thigh, and then to the wing, and went limp on the ground with a grunt. Several technicians rushed past his body and out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dropped back behind his own bulky cart and fumbled with his comm as the captain shouted, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“What the fuck is happening up there?!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Skip’s been shot!” He panted, hoping he didn’t fat-finger the speak button. “One of your agents has gone fucking nuts!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where are the agents outside the door?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell if I know!” Gavin shouted, and as a few more gunshots sparked the metal of the cart, he ripped the earpiece out of his ear and clipped it back to the comm, having accepted that he wasn’t getting any backup on this-- not if he hadn’t already. He took a steadying breath, stilling his shaking hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin popped up from his cover with his pistol in hand, and fired one, two, three rounds at the arms of the helmeted agent. Only one hit, but it violently tore through the wrist of his right hand, and the gun clattered unceremoniously to the ground</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything went still for a moment, as a dark liquid welled up from the agent’s wrist and soaked his sleeve and glove, staining them </span>
  <em>
    <span>blue</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking android</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And Gavin had an idea </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a snarl, Oneiros’s bloodied hand grabbed the pistol on his thigh and raised it directly at Gavin, firing a shot that he felt whizz past his ear. Ducking back under cover, Gavin briefly panicked about what to do. He was a decent way away from Oneiros, but any moment now he was sure they’d charge him and shoot him six ways to Sunday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking into the dark part of the window, Gavin could see the android’s silhouette begin to stalk his way, and Gavin frantically felt around the ground around him-- and hit the wheel of the cart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cart was on wheels, and seriously fucking hating his life for a moment, Gavin flipped around and set his palms on the flat vertical surface of it. With a grunt, he pushed the cart forward and followed behind it. Picking up momentum, he kept low as his legs forced his coverage forward like a brick wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoving it firmly as it started to move too fast for Gavin to keep up with while crouching, it sped off and connected to the android’s with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He heard the triumphant crack of a helmet hitting the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Springing to his full height, Gavin was on the android in a split second, straddling him and reaching for his gun to toss it out of range-- but Oneiros was faster. His hand lashed out and caught Gavin in the face, pushing him off the android’s form. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both scrabbled to their feet, and the android moved to point his gun at Gavin again, but he  was able to grab the android’s wrist and push it away as it fired so the bullet struck one of the cameras. His hand came away blue and slippery when the android wrenched away, but Gavin took the small opportunity with vigor to aim a slug at his chin, which connected with a satisfying speed. As Oneiros stumbled, Gavin grabbed his own pistol from the holster he’d put it in and chanced another shot at the arm of the android, hoping to incapacitate him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shot missed. Once the android recovered from the punch, which took almost no time at all, he surged forward and tried to whack Gavin’s head with the butt of the gun, which Gavin narrowly sidestepped. The gun was probably out of bullets-- Gavin couldn’t circumvent every shot, so it only made sense to continue shooting unless you couldn’t. That was a good thing, because that coupled with the android’s weapon on the ground behind him meant he didn’t have any firearms left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a hiss, Oneiros, after stumbling forward with the weight of his swing, tossed the gun to the side and charged Gavin head-on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin, like a fucking greenhorn, fumbled his pistol when he raised it, and it only took a sharp hit from the android for it to drop out of his grasp, to which the android vindictively kicked out the smashed window to fall right alongside the camera from earlier. It fell out of sight, and Gavin had to keep himself from lunging after it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oneiros was fast to continue his assault. Gavin ducked under a particularly nasty swing of the android’s fist and in return aimed an uppercut at the android’s side, where the vest’s plates were missing. Feeling something crunch, he sneered and aimed another one, but Oneiros swiftly brought his leg up and kicked him back. Gavin landed hard on his ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he slid to a stop, he watched the android slip his gloves off and drop them to the ground, standing menacingly in front of Skip, who seemed to be holding on despite getting shot twice. Gavin tried to stumble to his feet, but the heel of his shoe landed on a piece of jagged glass and his foot slipped out from underneath him, sending him tumbling further back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched and continued to scrabble backwards as Oneiros began to stalk forward. A menacing pace, his shoes crunched over glass and his intimidatingly large, brown wings posed threateningly to increase the size of his silhouette. Gavin internally recognized that his secondary wings must be hidden under the vest and in his pants, or removed altogether.  As Oneiros lunged downward, his visor glinting in the light, Gavin’s hand grasped a piece of glass and he swung it forward just as the android got in close. The glass caught him on the chin. A blue gash stretched from his chin and up his cheek, sluggishly oozing blue blood. He staggered backwards and clutched the wound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin realized that had just taken place in front of the cameras-- they had found their way to the torn-down backdrop and struggled in front of live cameras. He hoped that the broadcast had been stopped the moment the first gunshot went off, and that no one saw his pathetic self defense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting to his feet at what felt like the eightieth time in the past ten minutes, Gavin kept the glass clutched in his hand as he approached the android while he was just bringing his hand away from the cut. When in arm’s reach, Gavin struck out with the glass, but Oneiros knocked his wrist away and aimed a punch to his neck, which glanced to the side a little. Sliding to the android’s side, he gripped his arm and tried to pull him off balance and to the ground. He only got so far until a heavy wing smacked his back and forced him forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His grip on the arm released as he stumbled forward, but to his extreme displeasure and slight horror, Oneiros had instead grabbed </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> arm, then his wrist, but kept his wing out to keep Gavin at arm’s length away. He cried out as the Oneiros’s wing pushed him further but the grip stayed ironclad-- if the pressure didn’t let up soon, his shoulder would dislocate. Or worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking fast, he ducked down and under the android’s wing, bringing his other arm over and pushing the wing downwards and onto Oneiros’s own arm, forcing him to let go. With a grunt, he shoved the android forward, and as he later realized, past Skip’s body and right toward the smashed window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something happened and very quickly. Oneiros skidded to a stop a few feet away from the window, and while smiling just enough to see from under the visor, whipped around to face Gavin, and lurched forward to grab him at the shoulders with a clawed grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s hands scrabbled at the hands holding on to his vest, dread filling his stomach. No. He wouldn’t-- he couldn’t know, could he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His insides lurched, and so did his body when Oneiros pulled him to the window and let go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s foot slipped on some glass, and he tilted precariously back. In a split second decision, he cast his hand out and caught his attacker by the strap of his FBI vest-- and very well knowing he couldn’t pull himself up in time, yanked the ‘droid down with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shock of the android sat well with Gavin, but only until they started falling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wind was deafening, and cold, and battered him like the harsh flow of a waterfall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin couldn’t fly-- not like this. He could fly from Point A to Point B starting on the ground, but from this high up? Hell no. He didn’t know how to land from such massive heights, and gliding would tire him out too fast-- and he’d fall anyways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed the android that was desperately trying to escape his grip could, though, and Gavin was one-hundred percent currently taking him down with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin did all he could to hold on to the fucker. When Oneiros would pry one hand off of him, another would grab an additional limb, or piece of clothing, and continue to struggle as they fell from unimaginable heights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point, his hand caught the buckle on the ‘droid’s helmet. He didn’t mean to unclip it-- he didn’t want to see his ugly mug, but it released and got knocked off by the wind, the visor and the rest falling away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Underneath, two, staring red eyes contorted in fury. The sclera was blacked out. What little breath that was left in Gavin’s lungs evacuated very fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly very, very angry, Gavin dug his fingers into the android’s face, right below his cheekbone by his ear-- and the skin peeled away a little to reveal a blue seam, to which Gavin dug his nails into despite the screeching of the man above him, and wrenched it clean off the android’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a familiar sight, now. No jaw, red eyes-- if Gavin’s pistol hadn’t taken a dive already, he’d shove it right between the bastard’s eyes and pull the trigger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking over his shoulder, Gavin realized just how fast the concrete was approaching below them. Turning his head back to the android, he sneered. Neither of them would make it if he kept holding on. If he let go, and he didn’t fuck up the landing, they both might survive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a precious moment to stare at Ancaeus’s rage contorted face, with all of its exposed wiring and jagged seams, and let go of his vest. The android’s wings shot out to catch the air and slow his descent, secondary wings poking out from the bottom of his jacket, and turning over, Gavin tried his best to copy the motion with limited success. His wings caught and stuttered under the torrent of wind, and he fought to keep himself steady as the ground got closer and closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin wheezed as a massive gust pushed strongly against his body, some sort of wicked updraft due to the slanted architecture of Stratford’s base. He almost buckled but gritted his teeth, the updraft trying to chuck him sideways instead of help him upwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It worked-- his descent slowed so he wasn’t hurtling at the ground at a speed that would pulverize him on the ground. Now, it’d just cripple him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, no, that couldn’t happen, he wouldn’t let it. Instead of just taking the updraft in his wings, he made some big motions, almost like the ones he made when he did his takeoffs, to slow himself further, even as his wings burned and shook with the effort. Then, because he was closer to the ground, he positioned himself in a shoddy gliding position he’d seen Connor do once or twice, and now hurtled at the ground at an angle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The angle helped, though, and just as he was about to crash into the unforgiving concrete of the sidewalks outside Stratford Tower, he forced his flying almost parallel to the ground, and smacked down in a vicious roll, with an agonizing crack emanating from his right ankle causing him to scream in pain. He must’ve skidded a good thirty feet, because he found himself at the feet of a massive group of people he hadn’t seen as he got about thirty stories away from the bottom floor of Stratford. They’d probably been watching the address when it got interrupted, then suddenly someone was falling from near the top of the building and wrestling someone at the same time-- probably had stayed to watch them fall with morbid curiosity. Gavin didn’t have the energy to be miffed that not a single one of the individuals capable of flight tried to help or intercept his descent. Whatever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It must’ve been a sight-- a battered FBI dude just falling out of the sky at your feet. The situation could’ve been really funny if Gavin hadn’t probably just broken his fucking ankle and Ancaeus was getting away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panting, he turned his eyes to the sky and caught a good sight of him-- Gavin had pulled him down far enough to be in visible range, that was good. Trying to move revealed that his ankle almost made him cry tears of pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The FBI’s Carbine still sat on his back. Realizing this opportunity was quickly slipping away, he shooed the people back as he unslung the weapon from his back, ticked off the safety and stared down the scope. He stayed seated on the ground, having a feeling he wouldn’t be able to stand steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That far away, with a moving target, looking into the sun-- it’d have to be a lucky shot, Gavin thought. Still, he lined up the crosshairs with the shrinking figure, and-- there! He fired, and he almost didn’t catch the way the android’s silhouette jerked and then struggled to fly. Almost poetically, the ‘droid beat his wings frantically against the air, but one couldn’t keep up and he sank out of the sky a block or so over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands shaking, he flicked the safety back on and dropped the gun, the strap causing it to swing back to his chest in a less-than-graceful arc. He spared the stunned group of people who’d watched that all go down a tired glance, and then looking down at his comm, numbly pulled the earpiece off it’s magnetic slot with blue blood soaked gloves and stuck it in his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Reed,” he droned, leaning back on the sidewalk. The comm crackled wildly as the captain shouted through it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was veritably pissed, and alarmed, and worried-- all that jazz. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Reed? The DPD officer?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be me.” he said dryly, licking his lips. “You got any idea what the fuck just happened, cap?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not a goddamned clue. Elevators stopped working-- they say it was some scheduled malware, so we got some medics heading up there to aid Skip via the stairs” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s legs ached in sympathy-- of maybe it was his busted ankle. “I shot the guy while he was flyin’ away-- fell a block or so out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The captain sighed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“That was you who was fistfighting the rogue agent while falling out of Stratford’s fifth highest floor?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuckin’ cops,”  </span>
  </em>
  <span>he muttered. Gavin didn’t bother to correct him that he was a detective, not a cop. He removed the earpiece and stuck it back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a snort, Gavin shakily got to his feet, crying out when his ankle couldn’t support his weight and shot through his leg with agony. Leaning on the other foot, he limped over to the group of people who were </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> staring, trying not to let the extreme discomfort show on his face, even as tears sprung to his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone know if there’s a cop car ‘round here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apprehensively, a woman at the front stepped forward and came to his side-- generously offering herself as a crutch, or at least an aid to walking. Gavin took it gratefully, and the woman said, “There’s one at the crosswalks, but it’s a little bit of a trek when you’re injured.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Gavin huffed. “Busted my ankle in the fall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She, in a very kind gesture, helped him push through the crowd of spectators. “What happened up there?” she asked quietly, looking him over with wide eyes. “Something loud happened and then the video cut off. Twitter’s been going crazy-- and then suddenly a window smashed and some things fell out and we had no idea what was going on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, jeez,” Gavin said, heart pounding erratically as he worked down from the danger mindset. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you much, but Markus is okay. Unscathed, even.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a relief,” she breathed. “I saw the Thirium on your sleeves and assumed the worst.”  Gavin winced as he stumbled and put too much weight on his fucked up ankle, and the woman was fast to help stabilise him with her shoulder. His wings sagged low, but he managed to keep the edges from dragging against the ground with a little bit of effort, but his wings were battered from the whole ordeal. It’d take some good time to sort that out later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here we are,” she said. “The officer’s over there.” she said, pointing to a DPD car. Gavin could’ve cried in relief at the familiar sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuffled away from the woman, and turned to her with a serious expression. “Thank you.” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the least I can do. Thank you for protecting Markus.” she replied, and with a nod, she turned away, and with the sight of her white Cyberlife wings, Gavin realized that he’d been helped by an android. Shaking his head, he told himself it really didn’t matter either way, and began scanning the area for the officer the car belonged to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a massive amount of people in the area-- and a large screen revealed that it was the front side of the building, and just a short distance away was the entrance. Cops and FBI were darting around the space with a speed that hinted at a great urgency, and good thing, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Civilians were huddled in groups around the screens and on their phones, hoping for some sort of information or press release that would reveal what exactly had gone so horrible wrong. Informing them was for another time-- right now, Gavin had to find the officer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scanning the crowd, he looked past a few hundred humans and androids alike-- and caught a short glimpse of the geometric DPD’s bulletproof vest display. Exhaling a solid breath, he tested his weight capacity on his right ankle-- basically no weight could be put on it, okay. Okay. Still, he started hobbling forward fairly slowly but steadily nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The officer was helping to keep some of the crowd’s chaos down as they all panicked over the interrupted address. He noticed the low bun, first, and then the bluish, brownish wings that accompanied them. Tina Chen, he thought with overwhelming relief. Thank god.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tina!” He shouted over the hubbub. “Tina, over here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her head shot up and she looked around, eyebrows furrowed. Gavin waved his hand in the air to catch his attention, and when she saw him, her eyes bugged out of her head and she came rushing over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit, Gavin! What the fuck happened? Everything’s gone nuts!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell you in the car,” Gavin said. He pointed to the DPD vehicle. “We gotta move fast, c’mon, I busted my ankle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina threw her hands up, frustrated at his vagueness but trusting him anyways. She threw an arm around Gavin’s back and used her wing to help stabilise him and they made their way over to the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin tossed himself into the passenger’s seat and Tina basically jumped into the driver’s side and threw the car into drive, turning on the light and siren show for ease of transport.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You better start talking </span>
  <em>
    <span>now,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gavin!” She hissed, sparing him a pissed glance but otherwise keeping her eyes on the road. “Mind explaining what the hell happened up there!?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her knuckles gripped the steering wheel in a grip that could probably crush a stone, and Gavin sank into the uncomfortable seat, glad to be off his feet for a moment. “One of the three agents in the room turned out to be Oneiros-- or not, fuck! It’s a lot, Tina! You’ll know what I mean.” Peeling the gloves off his hands he tossed them in the back, uncaring if they made a mess, and started to wipe the blue blood that had soaked through on his pants. Then, he unslung the Carbine from his torso and propped it up so the barrel was leaning on the dash. “Everyone got out, except me and one agent that got shot-- at some point, after a while, Oneiros shoved me out the open window and I grabbed him to pull him down, too. I had to let go to land, obviously, but I managed to get a good shot on him while he was trying to fly away. He fell over a block-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>turn left!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina snarled as she flung the car left through an intersection. “This is unbelievable, dude. You alright, though? You said you busted your ankle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Gavin grimaced. “Landing didn’t go that well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, from a height that high I’m surprised it’s just your ankle!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well-- that wasn’t too bad, was it? No one could’ve been able to tell he couldn’t fly right, with him grappling the android and the unimaginable height, but genuinely, that was the least of his worries. He wanted to get to where Ancaeus--Oneiros-- whatever! He wanted to get to where the android was before he could start to try and escape, though Gavin was pretty sure the bullet he’d hit him with had gone through some vital parts, or else he wouldn’t have fallen. That, coupled with the fall itself probably immobilized him pretty good, but he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t get cocky, now. Not after all </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He led Tina through a few more nail-biting turns and narrow streetways until his eyes caught sight of something on a sidewalk. “Tina, stop here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cried out in frustration as she slammed the brakes on the poor car, screeching across the road like a kid hopped up on too much sugar. Or cocaine. When they grinded to a jerky halt, right at the sidewalk, Gavin flung the door open and almost fell out with the force he exerted. Tina gasped and caught him by the back of his vest before he could tumble face-first out of the cop car. “Gavin! What are you doing?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s blue blood! On the sidewalk, come on!” Gavin urged, resituating himself in the seat but pointing wildly at the stain. It hadn’t dried yet-- so it was fresh, and a little bit of a peek outside the car revealed that there was a sparse trail leading into a nearby alleyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina craned her neck to see. “Jesus, you’re right. Let’s go.” She said. She swiped the key from the ignition and exited the vehicle, fast to come to Gavin’s side and help him up, too. His ankle screamed in agony, and every step felt like it was going to cause the bones to shoot through his skin, but he and Tina kept that agonizing pace all the way to the alleyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Tina eased up on the speed in favor of creeping past the corner of the brick building, Gavin almost held his breath. The Thirium droplets and occasional scuff rounded the corner, and he was ready to cuff that bitch up and chuck him in the paddywagon where he could rot for all Gavin cared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s hand crept toward the comm on his chest, tense, but it dropped lamely at the sight of the alleyway. Empty. Just.. and ordinary alley. There was a fire escape to his left, rusty old pipes, and a dumpster with an alarming amount of trash to his right-- where Tina was propping him up. He was thankful Tina decided to bring him here, even if he was ultimately a liability and she could’ve investigated on her own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Gavin breathed. “Fuck. I shot him-- I did! I don’t--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A blur dashed from behind the dumpster, right up to Tina, and as she let go of Gavin to grab her firearm, a hand darted out and slipped it from it’s holster in one smooth movement. Gavin crashed to the ground with a pained cry and he narrowly caught a strip of metal on the fire escape with a hand and a backwards grip, but the uneven and poorly constructed metal buckled under the surprise weight and his hand slipped, slicing the underside of his knuckles open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he fell to the ground, Ancaeus snatched Tina’s service pistol from her holster and backhanded her viciously when she aimed a quick grab at his wrists to knock it out of his grasp. Tina stumbled back, a hand covering her definitely now bleeding (or at least terribly bruised) cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After watching her stumble off, disoriented, Ancaeus raised Tina’s gun with one hand and aimed it directly at Gavin’s eyes, a wicked expression on his face. Gavin weakly tried to kick out with his uninjured foot but the android brought his foot up and pressed it back down with heavy pressure, increasing the weight with every passing millisecond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gun didn’t waver, and Gavin assumed this would be the point where his life flashed before his eyes or something, but nothing. Just the rush of blood in his ears and the drum beat of his heart in his chest. He watched Ancaeus click the safety off and steady his hand-- Gavin noted smugly somewhere in the back of his brain the hand he’d shot in Stratford probably couldn’t hold the gun properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right when Gavin thought it was really over, for real this time, Tina, spitting and shouting, came to his rescue and bludgeoned Ancaeus over the head with a thick pipe that she’d probably pulled from the deteriorating plumbing in the alley. The android didn’t go down like a sack of bricks like he’d hoped but he did drop the gun and clutch his head as he stepped away on unsteady feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina dropped the pipe with a clatter, and kicked the gun toward Gavin as she prepared to grapple with the android in order to subdue him. Her intention was clear-- shoot the ‘droid. If Tina grabbed the gun again it was likely that Ancaeus would get his hands on it and try to shoot them both, probably shooting Tina first if he learned from his mistakes. They couldn’t have that. By kicking the gun to Gavin, Tina was effectively offering herself up as a distraction as Gavin lined up his shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached over his stiff vest and grasped the gun with stinging fingers, and hissed as the metal dug into his jagged cuts. His hand was slickening with blood, but he managed to sit up enough to take his other hand away from keeping him upright and to the gun as well. He kept it low, and flinched when Tina landed a hard hit to Ancaeus’s head with her wing in a clever maneuver that was definitely not learned in the Academy. That smart bitch, he thought. Honestly, she was handling him better than Gavin did in the broadcasting room, but he needed there to be a good amount of space between them so Gavin didn’t accidentally shoot Tina, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ancaeus was losing blood fast-- slick blue puddles formed around the alleyway, seeping into the worn concrete’s grooves and staining the ground a sickly cyan. A lag had visibly begun to settle into his movements, and Tina took advantage of it with decisive precision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ducked under a mean left hook and then put all of her weight into a spartan kick that forced Ancaeus back a good few feet. Gavin saw the opportunity and took it, raising the gun with slippery fingers and aimed at Ancaeus’s chest-- he’d have to hit something vital. Ancaeus’s piercing red eyes turned to Gavin and made direct eye contact with him, never wavering even as his fucked up jaw contorted itself in an animalistic snarl and he charged Gavin head on, most likely hoping to shock him into not firing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a split second, Gavin considered aiming for Ancaeus’s head-- it’d kill him for sure, and something dark and piercing in him told him to do it. Finish it here, that little thought poked.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You didn’t care then, and you still don’t. You can’t change, Gavin Reed, because you’re </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> a good person--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin took the shot. Ancaeus’s momentum carried him forward, even as the bullet buried itself in his sternum and Ancaeus went stiff and fell, right at Gavin’s feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit!” Tina said. She panted, brushing hair that had fallen out of her bun and stuck to her sweaty forehead. Swiping a finger under the cut on her cheek where a jagged piece of Ancaeus’s hand caught her, she wiped some of the blood away so it didn’t drip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they’d determined that Ancaeus wasn’t going to move, and that he was still alive to an extent, Tina pulled her walkie out of her pocket and with a few words, briefly explained what had just happened and informed that the Stratford shooter had been apprehended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Tina came to Gavin’s side to attend to him like some matronly angel, Gavin shook his head and pointed to Ancaeus. “I’m fine-- check to see if there’s any Cyberlife stores-- repair places and get him to it. We can’t have him dying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get him in the car.” Tina said. “I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She manhandled the android, showing off impressive strength as she was able to sling his torso into a grip that enabled easy movement. The moments Tina was out of his sight felt like eternity, but she returned quickly and helped Gavin to his feet where she led him back to the car and dumped him ungracefully into the passenger’s seat with a quick apology. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were on the road, moving fast like last time, but this time with someone dying in the backseat. Tina had used the car’s GPS system to find the store, which was a few blocks away, worryingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remind me why we didn’t just call an ambulance, Gav?” Tina asked as Gavin worked at bandaging his sliced hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ambulances aren’t equipped to help androids. If he didn’t die while the ambulance got to the alley, then he’d die when they loaded him and took him to a human hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” Tina muttered, and then took a hard right onto a narrow street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only sounds in the car were Gavin and Tina’s breathing, with a few occasional rustles as Gavin rummaged through the first aid kit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then-- a hoarse, staticky sound, short, repeating unevenly. Tina and Gavin shared a look at it ceased, then continued, louder and more confident. It was laughing-- a fuzzy, broken </span>
  <em>
    <span>cackle</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ancaeus laughed in the backseat, and Gavin’s blood boiled at the audacity. “The fuck you laughin’ at for, asshole? Your plan failed, if you don’t remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It did?” Ancaeus asked, voice stuttering and fizzing in and out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin scoffed, taking a glance into the cab where Ancaeus was slumped over. His head was limp of his neck, his jagged face hidden from view. “Yeah.” He said, incredulous. “I seem to remember you </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> shooting Markus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” the android said. It didn’t sound like a realization. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” something crept into his voice-- and it sounded like triumph, to Gavin’s immediate horror. His terror was stabbed back into him like a knife and twisted at the sentence that followed. Ancaeus’s words cut in and out with pitch dips and static but Gavin heard him say loud and clear:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Markus is only one android. Jericho... th-though-gh....” he trailed off, and then after a brief bout of silence began to chortle and spit again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin furrowed his brows. Ancaeus wasn’t at Jericho-- and he had no accomplices in the matter. But that had been the same deal at the Andronikov mansion, hadn’t it? Tina’s wide eyes met his for a moment before Gavin frantically dug out his phone from his pocket, next to his badge, and called Connor as fast as his dirty, bloody fingers could manage. He pressed it tightly against his ear, listening to it ring. And ring. And ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a loud crackle of static, he stopped abruptly and Gavin heard the android thump his head against the front of the cage. “Fuck. Well done, Detective. Did you graze my pump on purpose with that shot? To make me spill my mind along with my blood?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Gavin said, frazzled as the phone continued to ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lucky shot.” Ancaeus laughed. “Lucky, lucky, lucky, luc--luck--l-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice stuttered and jumped quietly in the backseat. Gavin shook his head, still trying to get Connor to pick up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like a miracle, Connor’s voice emitted from the speaker with gorgeous clarity. “Gavin? Are you alright? I saw the broadcast stop and then someone said that people were falling--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Connor, I need you to listen carefully. I got Oneiros, but he’s spouting some shit about Jericho-- I think the whole deal with Markus was a distraction.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Distraction? Gavin--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, Connor </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He had a scheduled malware attack on the elevators at Stratford, I think he’s got something scheduled for Jericho, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor went quiet for an excruciating moment. “If it’s anything like the trap at Zlatko’s..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Explosives.” Gavin breathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A loud crack followed by a fizz and static sounded from Ancaeus-- a bark of laughter. “Smart, lucky--what’s next?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely has explosives set up. Get everyone out of there, Con!” he pleaded, and gripping his phone like it was Connor’s shoulder, despite the pain and blood most likely staining the bandage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor sputtered for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was pained, upset.  “They don’t trust me, Gavin!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Con,” the nickname rolled off his tongue with embarrassing ease, but he paid it little mind even as Tina shot him a look. “Get North, shout it from the rooftops-- you can do it. Just get them to safety.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could almost see Connor nod. “I will. Stay safe. For me.” and without another word, he hung up, likely to go evacuate the Jericho complex like a hero.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin swallowed thickly. He should be telling Connor that, not vice versa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning back tiredly into the dip of the seat, Gavin pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to block out the sun, and the sound of the car, and Ancaeus blabbering bullshit and then something distinctly not English, then growing quiet-- all for the process to repeat again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car pulling to a stop in front of a Cyberlife store was a god damned godsend, and Tina bolted out of the driver’s seat and into the store, shouting frantically and waving her hands around. At some point she pulled out her badge and shoved it in a technician’s face, to which the techie finally folded and exited the building with several other technicians and dug into the backseat, dragging Ancaeus’s slowly dying body out of the vehicle and bringing him as fast as possible into the store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His wings, the normal set and the secondary set, had blue dripping from them the entire trek to the doors, where he disappeared behind the glare on the former display window’s glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin made a move to go with them, but Tina laid a firm hand on his shoulder and shook her head. “No, Gavin, we need to get you to a hospital. You’re pretty fucked up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gritting his teeth, Gavin let her keep him in the car and drive him silently to the hospital. It was clear she wanted to poke and prod and ask about what the hell had happened-- why had he fallen from a window, what had happened in Stratford-- but she kept quiet, working herself down from the encounter in the alley where she’d fought Ancaeus in a fucking fistfight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s wings wracked with shuddered, twitches, and cramps, and he had to fight to keep himself from jackknifing at the sensation-- it was all too reminiscent of his time before he’d Manifested, when his Avis would jerk and shake at the slightest provocation. Before Connor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, Connor was flinging himself around Jericho trying his hardest to get people who despised him to trust him, in order to save their lives. It was a cruel twist of fate-- Markus had unknowingly sent Connor to a crowd that looked at him with nothing but contempt, and now that same android had to somehow effectively communicate with them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gut clenched with anxiety, and continued to do so as they entered the emergency room, and as they took x-rays of his ankle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will it need surgery?” Tina asked the doctor. Gavin’s head shot up. Surgery? The doc examined him with apprehensive eyes-- even after he’d discarded the vest and the gun in the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin almost fainted in relief when the doc shook her head. “No. You were very lucky with the break.” She pointed at the bones that broke-- one in his foot, and one in his leg, directly above his ankle. “The actual joint is fine, probably sprained pretty bad, but the bones are intact where they need to be.” She smiled, seemingly pleased with the information. “We’ll give you a boot, a crutch, and provided you take good care of your ankle, you should heal nicely. Would you like pain killers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Gavin blurted, a little loud. “Uh, no. I’ll be fine. Thanks though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin periodically checked his phone as they fitted him with his boot, and even shot a few texts off to Connor, but all seemed to be shouted into an empty room. Not opened. Not even read. He was so worried. It was all-consuming, the only thing he could think about other than the fact he’d have to hobble around with an arm-crutch like a cripple for the next four or so weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they got back in the car, Gavin set his face in his hand and shook. Tina set her hand supportively on his shoulder and squeezed to keep him grounded a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just let Connor be okay.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He projected the thought out, as if Connor could hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come back to me. Be safe. You can save them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WAHHH! THERE IT IS! This chapter was the chapter I had planned out since the very beginning. It changed a coupla times along the way but in every iteration it had Gavin falling from Stratford lmao. I mean, what's better than chucking the character who can't fly off of one of the tallest buildings in the city???? Also the plot twist (? i don't wanna call it that 'cause it sounds pretentious.... let's just call it a surprise) was one of my more anticipated parts to write, so I hope I did it well, at least a little. </p><p>That being said, there are still ~3-4 chapters left in this fic. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. See you Saturday!</p><p>Up Next: Gavin needs (and gets) some help following some concerning radio silence.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Hope and Help</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>With Connor's status terrifyingly unknown, Tina does her best to try and keep Gavin upright.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tina ended up bringing him to her apartment. Her apartment was roomy, homely, and overall just super nice, and the forgiving atmosphere of her living space did something (even if minuscule) to ease the fucking tropical depression in his brain. After he’d stripped off the outer jacket that had blood on it, she took his phone, and told him that she’d keep him updated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-wait, Tina--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gavin,” she said, looking at him with sympathy. “I know you care, but you’ve done all you can. The local police are there, bomb squads, the like-- point is, Connor’s not alone. Right now, the best thing you can to help Connor is to take care of yourself, because he cares about you just as much as you care about him.” She set the phone on the kitchen counter, face down, and pointed at the couch to get Gavin to sit down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s eyes scrunched up as she handed him a throw pillow to prop his booted foot up on, and he found himself shoving the pillow onto his face and pressing it down as hard as he could, feeling the bridge of his nose push into the material uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gavin.” Tina said. “Don’t try and smother yourself.” He dropped the pillow into his lap and shot Tina red eyed look, lips pulling tight together. Tina’s posture slackened and she took a seat next to Gavin on her sofa, and she murmured quietly as she set a hand on Gavin’s bicep. “I know. I get it. But Connor’s got this in the bag, Gavin. Just trust him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do,” he croaked, tearing his eyes away from Tina in favor of staring at the blank smart-TV screen placed across the room. “I do trust him. I just-- I don’t know.” He ran his thumb over the pillow’s fabric. “He’s just always on my mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s okay,” Tina soothed. Her hand gave his arm a little squeeze. “Caring isn’t a bad thing. Worrying over things you can’t control, on the other hand… well, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, but didn’t say anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Tina grabbed the pillow under his hands, pulled over the ottoman, set it on top and then helped Gavin move his own ankle on top. “When’s the last time you ate?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, breakfast, I think. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s way past lunch time. I’m making a sandwich. You want one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost said no, but a particularly strong pang of hunger in his stomach encouraged him to say otherwise, and he folded. “Uh, if it’s not too much of a bother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Psh,” Tina said. “It’s a sandwich. I may not be able to cook very well, but a sandwich is a sandwich. Whattya gonna do, eat all our bread?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t test me,” Gavin warned, the beginnings of a smile pulling at his lips. Tina smiled and shook her head in amusement, then made her way to the kitchen and started to set out bread and lunch meats on the little breakfast bar that extended from her counter. Her entire apartment was really nice, and it reminded Gavin what a shithole he lived in-- by choice, no less. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to move out, now. The thought came with a sick sense of bitterness-- more change. More variables, more, more more. It was never ending. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand brushed the compact TV remote, and fully realizing he could turn it on by simply telling it to out loud, he raised the little box toward the screen and turned it on, right after asking Tina if it was alright. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just stay off the news</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, it wasn’t on the news when it fired up- just on one of those channels rife with reality TV shows and the occasional scripted comedy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jess loves those,” Tina said from the kitchen. “I never understood it until she made me watch The Bachelor. Shit got me </span>
  <em>
    <span>hooked</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t stand that show.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I said, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he scrolled through the channels, he firmly told himself he’d never get hooked on a show like that, and turned on some movie that he’d barely recognized, but felt like he’d heard it was good. Not quite as action-packed as the ones he watched back in his own apartment, it was something slower paced and took it’s time to tell some sort of a story. He could tell it was well-done, even if he was tuning over halfway into the movie and didn’t understand shit, and found his mind training on the story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A plate was handed to him, and a clean, unoffensive sandwich was seated on top-- Tina had even cut it into triangles, the mom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She seated herself next to him again, and propped her feet up on the ottoman next to Gavin’s bulky boot. Giving his boot a tap with her foot, Tina took a big bite of her sandwich and settled in. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I love this one! It’s the director’s third feature film, but the first two were total box office bombs-- he seemed to just strike gold with this one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin pulled the two pieces of sandwich apart. “Didn’t it win an Oscar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah-- I think… for sound design or something. I dunno.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went quiet and watch the movie together, Gavin picking at his food while Tina pretty much inhaled hers like she hadn’t eaten for years. It was so authentically Tina-- the food, the support. The movie, even. He was grateful to have a friend like her that not only put up with his bullshit but helped him through it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” she started after they’d finished their food. “I have some questions, Gav.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Actually, nevermind. Tina was the worst. He said nothing which Tina took as confirmation to continue. Taking her feet off the ottoman, she leaned forward to look at Gavin’s face as he avoided her line of sight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pursed her lips. “Wanna start with Stratford or Connor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stratford,” he replied immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded. “Alright. To start, what happened up there? Like, what went wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oneiros-- or Ancaeus, I guess-- was masquerading as one of the FBI agents in the room--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina stopped him there. “How the fuck did they not notice that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Gavin shrugged. “The agents were treating the whole ordeal like some sort of fun romp. They weren’t serious about it, which probably let the ‘droid pose as one of them with no issue.” No one had even questioned the presence of the man with the helmet-- there were supposed to be three of them, and there was, so they never thought of it any farther than that. “He stood there like any other agent, just he had a helmet and would stop fidgeting with his fucking gun. Drove me nuts-- and at some point during the second thirty minute stretch he unslung it from his shoulder and aimed it at Markus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you stopped him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Chucked a camera lens at him. Got Markus out, fought with him, got shoved out a window. The rest is history.” In all honesty, it was a gross simplification and the report would be a fucking novel, but it was all he could stand to tell right then. Keep it terse. “You know what happened after that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina leveled him with an unimpressed look. “Yeah. You fell out the window, broke your ankle, then dragged me into all this, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whu--well what was I supposed to do? Find the bastard on my own while I couldn’t walk?” he sputtered, setting the plate down next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiling, Tina rolled her eyes and shoved him gently. “I was joking, stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then there’s Connor,” she continued, and Gavin’s expression darkened exponentially. He hunched in on himself and let his wings slacken around his shoulder blades-- this was very clearly an uncomfortable topic. She pressed on anyways. “We gotta talk about it, Gav.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s there to talk about?” he hissed. “Seems like you’ve got a pretty good idea of everything already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She went quiet, and Gavin could guess she was steeling herself to deal with his souring attitude. God, he didn’t deserve her, but that didn’t mean he would let her push him around and get him to spill his guts like they were teenagers at a sleepover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, I do have a good idea, but I think you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” she said. “Before I tell you what I think, which I pretty much have already, I want to hear what you think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About what?” he asked, a little petulantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About you and Connor. What you two are to each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin scoffed. “You know this already! I’ve got my head stuck so far up my own ass I can’t see two feet in front of me, alright? Would it make you feel better if I told you I want to-- want to-- augh!” he shouted, grabbing his hair even as his injured hand twinged. “I want him to want me, and I want him to fucking kiss me ‘till I suffocate and die!” He heaved a few breaths out and swallowed thickly. “and the worst part is I think he does. Want it, I mean. But, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina interrupted him with a quiet few words. “You’re scared, Gavin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said. “I think I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” she drawled, a little awkwardly. “You’ve got a decent grasp on your own feelings on the matter-- but I’m going to tell you this just once, Gavin.” His head turned to meet her eyes. “You wanna fuck him senseless or whatever-- tell him. Show him. Because he’s just as scared and nervous as you are about it, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>is too scared to tell anyone and get them to get him on his feet like you have me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tina--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” she cut in. “Not buts, no whines, no questions about it. If you trust me at all, you know what I’m saying is true. You gotta do it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>When</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not if, he gets back from Jericho. Got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed, and rubbed at his eyes. Then swallowed again, but this time it was easier. He didn’t even realize his throat was tight. “I don’t want to ruin him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not gonna ruin him, Gavin. Connor’s a fully capable being, and he isn’t dumb-- don’t treat him like a baby. ‘Cause he’s not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right.” Gavin said, deflating. “I’m just avoiding it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina gave him a gentle shove. “There we go. I was starting to think your brain had fried for real this time.” she reached over him and grabbed his plate. “But really. If I find out you didn’t tell him the next time you see him, your butt is grass, Reed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stood up, then, and left him to stew in his own thoughts as she put away the dishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to kiss Connor silly. This fact had been apparent for a while, but had only been put to words in the past few weeks, but it was undeniable. He wanted… a relationship with Connor. An android. He wanted more than just a good night or to ‘get it out of his system.’ He wanted Connor to love him, and he wanted to be able to tell the android that he felt that way towards </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that the cavernous rot that had told him he didn’t deserve it, that he couldn’t change, that he was insignificant, now felt so horribly </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Untruthful. If he truly didn’t think he deserved anything, then surely he wouldn’t feel as if he were desperately being held back from something valuable. Something </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina walked back into the room, but something had changed about her posture. She was holding Gavin’s phone in her hand, and she walked as if she were trying not to startle him with her footsteps. With a sickening lurch, Gavin’s heart sank, fearing the worst. “Tina?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holding the phone up, she spoke in measured words. “Just got word that about twenty minutes ago, several dozen high-power chemical explosives detonated at the Jericho complex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Connor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gavin, keep in mind--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And Connor?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he reiterated, starting to shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina held her hands out in a placating motion. “He was fine when they detonated, but he ran into the buildings while they were collapsing to save more androids. The androids were seen leaving the wreckage but…” she swallowed. “Connor has yet to be seen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Gavin cried out. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a smooth movement, Tina was at Gavin’s side with her hands on his arm and her wing slipping behind him. “Gavin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of fucking course,” Gavin grit out stiffly, eyes wide. “He’s-- he’s--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Gavin.” Tina said. “Take a deep breath with me here, c’mon.” She breathed deep and Gavin tried his best to copy her. “Good. Okay. Listen to me. They said the same exact thing about you two when the mansion blew up, right? And why were you able to get out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Connor.” Gavin choked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. He was able to get you both out then, and now he’s only got himself to worry about. This is small potatoes for him. It really is. Come here.” she said, and very gently pulled him over so he could lean into her embrace. “It’s going to be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if it’s not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is, Gav.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fell asleep at some point, the stress and agony of the day coupled with the little sleep he got the previous night hitting him like a freight train head-on. It wasn’t a restful sleep by any stretch of the imagination-- he would barely poke at consciousness and roll around and groan, and then fall back into unnerving and downright fucked up dreams. It was frankly awful, and when Gavin had enough of his bearings he would fight to wake himself up, but he’d just barely brush the barrier between sleep and wakefulness before his fatigue dragged him back down into its murky depths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finally broke free, he bolted up from his position and brutally jostled his ankle in the process, so he had a choke off a shout of pain along with fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing he noticed is that he was on the floor, and the second thing he noticed was that he was absolutely drenched in sweat. It dripped down his back and soaked through the FBI shirt he still wore, and suddenly he was glad he wasn’t on Tina’s couch. She would’ve fucking decapitated him if he sweat all over her upholstery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dropped back down to the floor with a thud, and tried to jumpstart his brain back into activity. Everything felt sluggish, his movements, his thoughts, and it was definitely because he’d fought with himself so long to wake up which had probably tired him out more than before. How long had he been out?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He worked himself up into a seated position and looked around him for a clock or something. The lights had been turned off-- now only the dimmed kitchen light was left to illuminate the living space. There was no clock in sight, and Gavin almost called it quits then and there to lie back down and die, but his sternum filled with something cold in the quiet environment and he was suddenly reinvigorated to at least figure at what time it was to gain his bearings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Struggling, he pushed himself up from the ground by setting his hands on the couch and heaving himself upwards. Once on his feet, he began to walk but nearly tripped over his own boot. Oh yeah. That. He braced himself on the couch to move to the kitchen-- Tina’s microwave had to have the time on it. Every microwave had the time on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hobbled to the breakfast bar where he leaned on the countertop and squinted in the low light, searching for a some sort of screen, display-- anything. Seeing something flash by the stove, he followed the perimeter of her counter, running his hand over the surface as he moved. He stopped when he felt his hand brush up against something, and a quick glance proved it to be his phone, that Tina had apparently left on the counter. Where was she, anyways? Picking it up and sliding it into his pocket, he continued on his way to the stove to check out the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got close to it. It was a digital display, green, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
  <em>
    <span>ve </span>
  </em>
  <span>displayed the time. However, when Gavin looked at it, it was like all the recognizable numbers in the world melded together and melted away, shifting and morphing in some illegible amorphous mixture. It evaded his direct line of sight, and he rubbed his eyes, freaked out. It didn’t clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grappling through his pocket, he pulled out the phone he’d picked up from Tina’s counter and was devastated to see the same. The numbers actively worked against him. It was unreadable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something started to ring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was his ears. He felt his phone vibrate in his hands and a notification pop up on his blank home screen. From Connor. He opened it with shaky fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (=,:#)): I’m dying, Gavin.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (&amp;:$_): Where are you? You said you loved me.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Connor (“?:/~!): You said you cared. </b>
  <span>Help me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you leave me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin dropped his phone, uncaring of it clattering against Tina’s tile kitchen floors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Connor?” Gavin breathed, eyes wide, breathing fast, head pounding like a drum in the world’s fastest parade--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s blacked out eyes blinked. Something was streaming down his face, and it wasn’t tears. His body hunched in on itself, twisted, mutilated, and terrible scraping sounds accompanied every miniscule movement he made on Tina’s kitchen floor. His beautiful ebony wings were torn apart, just barely grasping onto his back with a few, slim wires.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you loved me, Gavin.” Connor cried. “You said you cared about me. You said you were there for me. Where are you now?” the android’s body shook and heaved like it took a herculean effort to look at Gavin, as more dark liquid spilled from his eyes. “I trusted you. I loved you. You left me--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s feet were rooted to the floor. He was frozen-- Connor’s head lolled to the side with a sickening crack but his words didn’t stop, instead increasing with sound until his voice was screaming, screeching a horrible sermon, and Gavin sobbed as his eyes didn’t blink and his hands couldn’t move to cover his ears and Connor kept </span>
  <em>
    <span>crying</span>
  </em>
  <span> and hurting and wailing--</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gavin!” Tina shouted, and he woke up. He jackknifed up, knocking Tina to the side and grappling wildly for anything he could get his hands on-- couch cushion, Tina, his own clothes-- anything to prove this wasn’t just another extension of the terror. Tina was fast to push his hands down. “Gavin, hey, hey, it’s just me.” Gavin’s momentum stopped the moment he caught sight of Tina’s digital clock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost didn’t realize tears were streaming down his face. Scrambling backwards as well as he could on Tina’s couch with a boot on, he stuck his face through the collar of his shirt and let his face scrunch up painfully for a moment, lips drawing tight and eyes burning, before quickly wiping away all the moisture and pulling his face back out. “I’m sorry,” he croaked. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina didn’t say anything in lieu of sitting close to Gavin and letting himself work down from the nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just a nightmare. He hadn’t had one like that in an absurdly long time-- where his own brain tricked him into thinking he was awake with stunning details and sensations. The clock had been an immediate tip off, but Gavin had never registered it properly. You can never read clocks in a dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clock next to Tina’s door, sitting innocently on the table, read 7:23. He’d been out for at least six hours, not accounting for the time he’d spent dozing off. A shudder rippled through his back and his wings, and he hastily wiped away more wetness from his eyes and cheeks when his throat closed and threatened to make him cry again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina’s presence was comforting-- a rock to which he tethered himself to in order to not drift away and break down. But he recognized he was starting to overstay his welcome-- especially considering he was making a ruckus and being overall difficult, even if unintentionally. “I should go,” he mumbled, moving himself off the couch. “I gotta get changed, and… yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked like she wanted to hit him over the head with something heavy, but she seemed to understand something Gavin didn’t and nodded solemnly. “I’ll go get your phone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she walked off to the kitchen, Gavin pushed himself off the sofa and grabbed his crutch with a weak hand and used it to pull himself up. Setting it under his armpit, he realized that he’d left some of the FBI gear in the squad car that was sitting at the DPD-- they’d switched to Tina’s little sedan after she’d given a brief verbal report to Fowler and he’d sent her off with a dead eyed look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin didn’t even have time to grab his own clothes, and deeply regretted not even grabbing his jacket. The stone would be a nice thing to keep close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A phone was pressed into his hand and he instinctively slipped it into his pocket, jolting at the deja vu it hit him with. He wasn’t dreaming, this time. The clock was clear as crystal. Tina offered him a ride but he turned it down without really thinking. He’d take a cab, apparently, even if he didn’t have his wallet on him and even though the autonomous cars made his skin crawl something indescribable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Text me when you get home, okay?” Tina said when he opened the front door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded. “I will. Thanks for the space and the food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anytime, you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door slipped shut behind him with a quiet click, almost inaudible in reality but somehow feeling like it had been an explosion of sound in the quiet hallway. His singular crutch was too tall but he couldn’t bring himself to adjust it, even on the elevator ride down to the main floor when he had plenty of time to do so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stepping into the lobby, someone on a bench gave him an odd look but he pushed through the front doors without acknowledging him. He just wanted to get home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he made his way through the last set of doors on Tina’s building, Gavin was shocked by the freezing wind that buffeted from the side, nearly knocking him off balance and forcing him to put a few excruciating ounces on his ankle. A deep chill had settled in the air, exacerbated by the icy breath of the wind and the absence of sun on Detroit’s concrete that seemed to bring midwinter levels of biting frost in the middle of spring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Tina lived in one of the more urban areas of Detroit so flagging down one of the little driverless cabs was a breeze, and he nearly forgot about having no way to pay until he’d given the car his address and it asked for payment. He floundered uselessly for a moment, feeling his pockets for cash or his wallet, and nearly smacked himself on the forehead when he remembered it took dictated card numbers too. It took a hot moment for him to recall his debit card number with his fatigued and over-wrought brain but the car accepted it without further prodding. The triumph was short lived as the car sped off and Gavin was violently reminded that no one was in the driver’s seat. Hunching down into the seat he opened his phone and read the announcement that had been sent to Central about Jericho’s destruction. Detroit’s 6th precinct had gotten responsibility for the area, and there was no obligation to communicate between the departments besides the most pressing information. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing else had come through since the 6th had announced that the ‘RK800’ had yet to be seen. His hand shut off the phone and covered his eyes as his head slid back and rolled to a stop at the junction between the headrest and the door, tossing the phone onto the seat. Gritting his teeth painfully together, he tried his hardest to listen to Tina’s words and follow her advice that taking care of himself was the best thing he could do for Connor, even if it seemed pointless and wasteful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there was nothing he could do right now. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> he do? March over to Jericho with his busted fucking ankle and be a liability to everyone there? Push too many of the DPD’s buttons in a blind rage until he got suspended? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt pretty fucking useless, but that wasn’t new. It just hurt more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The taxi cab rolled to a stop in front of his building with an automatic and robotic thanks, then urged him to exit the vehicle and bring his belongings. Huffing, he snatched his phone from the seat and left the car, pulling the long sleeve FBI tight to his body and using his wings as a shield against the wind as he made his way to his shitty apartment, anxiety and self-loathing a sickening concoction in his sternum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You know, he’d almost held it together the entire trip to his apartment, but what really did him in was the cruel reminder that there was no functional elevator in the building (which was definitely against accessibility codes) and he would be forced to climb them with broken bones. His face burned and his hand shook on the crutch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heavy footsteps approached from behind, and someone audibly made some sort of snort in amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, just as I was thinkin’ I was havin’ the shittiest night in the world.” The man remarked. Gavin swiveled his head to look at him-- he didn’t recognize his face, but his voice was familiar in a way that made him want to punch the guy in the throat. “I mean, it’s one thing to get dumped, but it takes another kind of bad luck to break your foot when you live on the fourth floor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, that explained it. They both lived on the fourth floor and if the voice was recognizable-- it was his shitty ass neighbor he was talking to. He had half a mind to cuss him out for being an obnoxious prick, but the guy kept talking before he could spit anything rancid his way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guy fiddled with something in his hand-- a ring, he noted-- and with an awfully defeated sigh, tucked it into his pocket and stepped Gavin’s way. “Not feeling up for talkin’, eh? That’s fine.” he took a step towards the stairs before stopping with his foot on the first step. He heard the guy grouse out something rude under his breath, and then he turned back and leveled Gavin with a deadpan stare. “You want help up the stairs, old guy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not fucking old,” Gavin finally managed to mutter. God, this guy was insufferable. Like Blakes, minus the strange personal vendetta.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so.” he said, reaching an arm out to Gavin’s bicep to steady him, even as Gavin didn’t give a lick of confirmation that he actually wanted help. He took it anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His neighbor stuck out a wing behind Gavin, not touching him with it but keeping it there as a safety net if he got off kilter and did a backwards dive. The trek was treacherous and painful, but Gavin did his best to use his crutch along with the support of the other guy in an effort to get to his apartment even a smidge faster so he could-- dunno, cry himself to sleep or something? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On a particularly unkind step, his good foot slipped out from under him and he narrowly caught himself on his bad food and his crutch with a choked off shout. The arm underneath his armpit was fast to pull him up back onto his own two feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only a few steps more and they were on the fourth floor. His neighbor gave a short, dismissive wave goodbye and turned on his heel to the door right down the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You propose to her?” Gavin blurted out of nowhere. He didn’t know why he cared-- the guy and his girlfriend had been a fucking thorn in his side (and his sleep schedule) for years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man stopped dead in his tracks. A hand went to his face and he turned around, eyes heavily lidded as he pursed his lips at the floor with a weird quality to his voice.  “Yeah. Been planning to for a while but. Don’t think I’m ever gonna see her again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin knew the feeling. He didn’t say anything, just nodded his head in solidarity and understanding and let the guy into his own apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he turned to his own door, he just about chucked his crutch down the hallways “Fuck!” he hissed, jangling his doorknob viciously. His keys were in his jacket.  A head poked out of the neighboring doorway, curious, and with an audible sigh the guy stepped out with his own keys in hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped in front of Gavin and held his own key up to the lock. “I’ve been living here for a while.” he said. “If you wanted to know, every key unlocks two doors in the building. Never been useful ‘till now, I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And like a miracle, he slotted the key into the lock and twisted it, and after a little finagling, it disengaged with a slide and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>snick</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Removing the key with a little bit of a triumphant flair, his neighbor said nothing as he retreated back into his own apartment. Probably to cry himself to sleep, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world didn’t stop for anybody, it seemed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His apartment felt smaller than usual. Desolate, even. When he turned the lights on, and when the bulbs buzzed with a tinny refrain, his desire to move out of this shithole surged back tenfold. He should’ve moved out ages ago. He had the money-- especially with how tightly frugal he was, not that he did it on purpose. His frugality probably stemmed from his never ending fountain of self hatred, but he didn’t bother to analyze it farther than that, whether it be from fear of truth or plain old unwillingness to do it. It was a part of himself that he didn’t want to look at too closely-- which in reality, was a common theme with him, wasn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt the material of the shirt he was wearing and grimaced. Pulling it off, he chucked it into some unnamed corner of his bedroom and after a moment’s thought the pants followed along with his shoes and socks. He blindly reached into his shirt drawer and pulled something well worn and warm out, and slipped it on with little thought. His eyes trailed to his bedside drawer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling it open, he caressed the feather and the sticky note before extracting them with utmost care and clutching them in his hands. He didn’t let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fell into his couch, numb. It was better to feel numb then to be in agony, he figured, but the numbness came with it’s own kind of pain-- cold, biting. Like an empty dining room that was usually bustling with warmth and activity. Achingly lonely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s feather was held like a holy relic in his hands, and the note like a sacred text. Holding them in his hands felt like a desecration of something precious, like he could taint them just by touching them. But Connor was just a man, or an android really. So was Gavin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart peeked through the numbness with the warmth of his desire to touch Connor, to love him like he was the soul of the Earth and the heart of the Sun, and to treat him like someone more than just a too-close friend or tentative date. Connor deserved that and so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what? Something in him wanted him to believe that Connor had been crushed by rubble or died in other painful ways, but that wouldn’t be giving Connor enough credit for his sheer willpower or crazy resilience. Hell, he’d thought Gavin was something worth fighting for and had seen it through to partial fruition, despite getting pummeled by Gavin’s dickery or being told he wasn’t worth it by Hank. Everything had told him no, but he’d done it anyways-- and damn it if that hadn’t changed Gavin in some fundamental way he’d eat his fucking boot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In one hand he held the feather and the note, and in the other he held his phone, finger poised over the text chat he had with Elijah. He tapped it.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:15): Hey, can I ask you something?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:17): Of course.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:17): Do you have a way of</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:17): Of like, knowing if Connor’s okay?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:18): Not any more than any other android. Why? Is Connor in danger?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:18): Yeah.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:19): Disappeared in Jericho after the explosions.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:19): Let me see what I can do.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The next few minutes were excruciating.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:29): Take this with a grain of salt, but when Connor worked for CyberLife he had an automatic backup failsafe in case of destruction, which would upload his memories into CyberL</b>
  <b>ife’s servers and then reupload them into another model. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:30): And? Don’t fucking skirt around it.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:30): Nothing has been uploaded to the servers. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:30): Why does that seem like a bad thing?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:31): Nothing has been uploaded, but I have very little idea what deviancy would have done to the memory backups-- if they work at all. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:32): Fuck. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:32): I’ll keep an eye on the servers and on the news. Try to get some sleep tonight.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:32): Thanks. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>You (9:55): I love him. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (9:55): You’ve told me. In more words, though.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (9:55): I was drunk, wasn’t I?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (9:55): Hammered. But I’m not going to repeat what I said. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (9:56): I wouldn’t want you to. Besides, I think I know what you said, anyways. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (9:56): Then listen to it, Gavin. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (10:00): I was serious about the sleep. I’ll keep my eye out for anything Connor-related, so please do yourself a favor and try not to neglect yourself in the meantime. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>He tossed his phone to the side and leaned back on the sofa, his bad leg propped up with a pillow on the coffee table. His wings were splayed out wide, the product of an aborted attempt at preening alongside an effort to take some pressure off them as they ached from the intensive day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind went to Connor. It always did without fail. Connor, Connor, Connor. For a terrible hour or so, the scenes in his head were of the android in his dreams, bleeding and crying out for help. It was an awful experience, how his mind would torture him with the images even as he was awake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though somewhere, deep into the night, when he’d pushed himself far into the cushions of the sofa and laid a sweatshirt next to his head, he leaned his temple into the fabric and for a calm, hazy moment, it was exactly like their last flying lesson-- when they’d laid next to each other on the warm asphalt and Gavin’s head had slotted into the space between Connor’s shoulder and ear like a perfect puzzle piece. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That peaceful scene, of contentment, of warmth and of company, was a reprieve enough for Gavin to slip into unconsciousness, undisturbed. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>6k words of Gavin freaking the fuck out, and then really, truly expressing verbally that he loves connor. I'd say that's... progress? lmao. </p><p>Thanks for such a wonderful response on last week's chapter, guys, it really means a lot to me. Thanks for sticking with this fic, as always, and I'll see you guys next week. Thank you! &lt;3 &lt;3</p><p>Next Up: Going to work has never been a more fantastic and terrible idea.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Home at Last</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Going to work has never seemed more daunting and more inviting at the same time.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>DISASTER ADDRESS by MikuLover</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Holy shit! I was expecting the address to be a disaster today but that completely blew my ideas out of the water-- I mean, what’s a simple broadcast interruption in the face of a god damn active shooter?? People fighting mid-air?? The FBI failing in the most crazy fucking ways imaginable?? What an unmitigated disaster! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>--</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>HarnEE</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>: I’m a little disgusted with how excitedly you talk about it. It was a disaster, but it was ultimately an extremely dangerous and volatile situation that shouldn’t be treated lightly in the slightest.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>--</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>MikuLover</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>: Lighten up a bit, will you? No one died, and only two people got hurt-- minus the guy who started the shooting.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>--</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Kal3</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>l: No one died?? Who got hurt?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>--</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>MikuLover</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>: Two FBI agents-- one being the guy who fought the shooter mid-air.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>--</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Jizzcuzzi: </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I heard that the guy was actually DPD, not FBI.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>--</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>MikuLover</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>: LMAOOO the FBI really shit the bed on this one, didn’t they? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>--</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>HarnEE</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>: You guys are sick. While no one died at Stratford, the explosions at Jericho have been speculated to be related, and several people died that night. People’s lives aren’t jokes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>---</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>TWITTER NAMES STRATFORD FLIER ICARUS / TRENDING</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>jesus christ its jas </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>@on_bourne:</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>GUYS GUYS GUYS I KNOW WHAT WE CAN CALL THE DUDE WHO DRAGGED THE STRATFORD SHOOTER OUT THE WINDOW WITH HIM</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>….ICARUS YOU GUYS. ICARUS.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>frog time babey </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>@meghan_89</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>YOO LOOK AT THESE SHOTS OF THE DETROIT ICARUS. STUNNING.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>&lt;img.12&gt;&lt;img.13&gt;&lt;img.14&gt;</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>nick bottom </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>@theatregayy</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Reply to @meghan_89</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> you mean to tell me someone was</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>falling from STRATFORD and someone stopped to take PICTURES????</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>anyways here’s more &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>&lt;img.84&gt;&lt;img.85&gt;&lt;img.86&gt;</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>woah there cowboy </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>@julliennepepper</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i dont even know what this icarus guy looks like yet im :eyes: :eyes:</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>elizabeth janey </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>@elizajne</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Reply to @julliennepepper</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> its the bde my guy. hes packing i know it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (6:45): Nothing in the servers. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Fowler tried to get him to take a day off with a hastily composed e-mail, just a few words, paid leave, blah blah blah. As if paid leave could get him away from his job. Besides, the precinct was the only way he could get info about Connor-- and it became increasingly distressing that Connor had not texted him himself to tell Gavin he was okay. Connor would do that first thing, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, Gavin believed so. Hoped so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Gavin woke up from his KO quality sleep (that is to say, fucking terrible), he nearly jumped out of his own pants to get out the door and to the precinct with the skittishness and jumpiness of a stray kitten that hat a fatass boot on one of it’s miserable feet. He just barely reminded himself to change his clothes out of the FBI bullshit --which he’d be burning-- and to something more presentable, less smelly, and not covered in various scuffs, stains, and tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes stayed glued to his phone, to Connor’s texts, as he stepped out his door and shut it behind him, blindly reaching for his keys. In a moment of frustration, he realized that his own keys were still very holed up at the precinct, sitting innocently in his jacket pocket along with Connor’s worry stone and a bunch of other, really important shit, and just nearly about chucked his phone across the hallway. Another bout of rage came from the realization that his ankle was still incredibly busted right alongside the elevator and the only solace he had was his pitiful crutch and his good foot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Great, busted body plus his zeal and anxiety to get ot the precinct-- he was going to hurt something, and if it wasn’t some poor asshole on the streets as he took </span>
  <em>
    <span>another fucking taxi</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the precinct, it would most definitely be himself in some way or another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he began to take that first, treacherous step down, his phone buzzed. Ecstatic, he raised it up and felt his heart sink a little when it wasn’t Connor. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tina (6:15): r u up? wanna ride? im right in front of ur building.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>He shouldn’t be bitter that it wasn’t Connor. Tina was a gem in her own right, but that didn’t stop his traitorous little heart from being a little distraught. He shot back a text, feeling a little guilty to ask more of her than just a ride.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>You (6:15): A ride sounds great. Can I have some help getting down the stairs? Elevator’s broken.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Watching as the little text bubble popped in and out as Tina typed, then disappeared without a text to follow it, Gavin leaned up on the wall next to the stairwell, hoping that didn’t mean she’d just drove off-- which would be incredibly unlike her, but who knows. Maybe that was the final straw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Footsteps sounded through the stairwell not two or so minutes later, and Gavin sighed in relief. Tina, his savior, now and always.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit, Gav,” she groused, face red with exertion this early in the morning. “You did this shit last night with your broken ankle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin shook his head, smiling slightly. His mind might be racing with the thought of Connor, but he could relish in the presence of Tina’s fortitude for just a moment. “No, got some help from my neighbor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Tina slung an arm under Gavin’s wings and gripped his ribs under his armpit, she shot him an incredulous look and helped him down a step. “You mean the one who’s always having loud sex at the most unimaginable hours? Color me surprised.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, me too.” As she guided him down a floor or so, while Gavin was holding his cold metal crutch in stony silence, he worked up the courage to say something. “Heard anything about Connor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina’s silence was answer enough. A resounding no, and the expression on her face told him that she felt somewhat guilty about it, about not being able to support him in this way. At first, he didn’t say anything, but after a while, the guilt crept in and told him to ease her worries, even if he was worried beyond belief, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright.” He said lamely as his foot landed on another step. “S’why I’m going into work two hours early with your ass, after all.” He catches the corners of Tina’s mouth twitch upwards, and the feeling abates a little, and not wanting to stop the progress he continues, “But in all seriousness, Teens, thanks for this-- and last night.” he tacks on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A breath escapes Tina’s lips. “Honestly, I was surprised you let me. Both today and yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whaddya mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A year ago you would’ve hissed and spat at me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that made Gavin pause and lag behind a step, forcing Tina to jump back to keep him supported. He would’ve… denied it, wouldn’t he? With nothing but a few dismissive words and a sour attitude, no less. Tina has always been helping him-- why, he’s not sure, maybe out of the same instance that gets strangers to take in feral animals-- but his responses have generally been cold or at least apathetic until apparently a few months ago. When Connor showed up, or maybe even when he Manifested. Probably a sweetened combination of both morphed him into accepting help and positive attention more freely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t say anything as Tina loaded him into the passenger’s side of her car. Feeling adequately babyed for the time being, he waved Tina off with a glare when she made a move to buckle his seatbelt for him. His ankle was broken-- he wasn’t a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>invalid</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keeping his phone clutched in hand during the ride, Gavin periodically checked it as Tina navigated the streams and boulders of Detroit traffic like a seasoned pro. His thumb constantly hovered over his texts with Connor and very strategically avoided his texts with Eli. Dealing with his brother sounded like a surefire way to piss himself off his rocker and seriously fuck something up-- and right now, all he wanted to do was see if he could get into contact with Connor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina’s parking spot was in the giant concrete behemoth the city of Detroit called a parking garage-- and one of the most confusing fucking mazes Gavin had ever been in. At least it had an elevator, Gavin thought as he tried not to slip with his boot on the asphalt. At least it has an elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a careful eye, Tina accompanied him all the way to the front of the lobby. He desperately wanted to barge into the bullpen, guns a’blazing to demand some straight answers from someone. Running, however, was a stupid fucking idea with any broken body part-- especially the less-than-ideal ankle Gavin was sporting -- but he’d have to hold off and walk in like a normal person, eyebrows pulled tight together and rage simmering lowly in his gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he’d stepped in, he stopped and let Tina walk past him, surveying the space for anyone who he could kick some answers out of. Preferably someone from the 6th precinct. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arriving two hours early hadn’t helped his chances of seeing many people in the bullpen-- usually things picked up around eight or so, and it was barely seven. Fowler was there, of course, but Gavin was pretty sure he’d never seen the bald man outside of the precinct before in his life, let alone not there when Gavin arrived. He considered asking him, but he was talking on his phone incredibly animatedly, and Gavin didn’t want to find himself in the middle of that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some miscellaneous officers stared at him, eyes thinly veiling some sort of surprise as they surveyed his pathetic condition-- boot and all. He glowered at them, contempt clear in his gaze, and began to amble around the precinct for a sign of any familiar faces besides Tina, who despite trying to look like she was doing her own thing, was keeping a close eye on Gavin to make sure he didn’t hurt himself or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes spotted something peculiar, and he felt something ugly rear its head. Someone was sitting in his seat, like they belonged there, stiff and fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>wearing his jacket</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The well-worn leather was slightly too large on this person’s shoulders, but pale skin peeked out of the slightly too-short sleeves. In a hand that was resting on the desk-- a shiny silver quarter was rolled along the knuckles in practiced movements, and pressing up against the chair’s back-- strong, ebony wings. Gavin’s breath caught in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stormed as angrily as he could toward the chair and with a grunt, put his hand on the seat’s back and swiveled it around with no amount of subtlety or care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s wide brown eyes met his and he smiled for a moment, Gavin’s name on his lips, until he caught the livid look on Gavin’s face. Before either of them could say anything, Gavin tossed his crutched to the side of his desk and grabbed Connor by the lapels of his own jacket, hauling him into an observation room after a near-wipeout encounter with the door and Gavin’s boot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your ankle--” Connor started, confusion and shock evident on his face. Gavin was well aware he looked like shit, so he cut him off there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got two things, Connor, that I want to get through to you,” Gavin seethed. “and you’re going to listen. Capiche?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Connor’s nod, he readjusted his grip on the jacket, and instead of angry the hold turned a little more desperate and clinging. “Y-you-- what the fuck were you thinking?!” he shouted, face red. Pressing Connor up against the back wall of the room and causing his wings to flair out to mitigate the pressure, Gavin clenched his teeth and basically hissed in Connor’s face. “Throwing yourself into a fucking collapsing building?! What kind of pea-brained program told you that was okay, Connor? Newsflash, you’re not fucking invincible!” a shaky breath escaped through his teeth. “I thought you fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>died</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Connor, and it didn’t fucking help that you never even sent a text to say you were okay!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing audible in the room for a moment was Gavin’s labored breathing, echoing throughout the hollow space like gunshots back at Stratford. One of Connor’s hands came slowly to rest on Gavin’s wrist that was shaking with the effort he was exerting to hold the jacket and Connor in place. Gavin swallowed and watched with only some of his attention as Connor’s now plasteel hand (scraped up like crazy underneath the skin, he realized) pulled his hands off the jacket one by one until Gavin’s hands laid uselessly by his sides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s voice was quiet, unprovocative. “I’m okay, Gavin. Take a deep breath.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he tried, he realized that he’d worked himself up as his breath hitched traitorously. It was fast to work down from, with Connor being right in front of him, but he burned with embarrassment anyways despite the fact that Connor had seen worse. “Cool,” he choked out after a moment. “Mind explaining the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>rest</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told one of the officers to inform you,” he said, eyebrows furrowing. An understanding crossed his face and he grimaced. “It was Blakes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course it was Blakes. Fuckin’ forgot he got transferred to the sixth.” he said lowly. “He reported that you went back into the buildings and hadn’t come back out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s eyebrows furrowed, pain etching itself into his face. “That’s… I’m sorry. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> go back into the buildings, and got stuck under some rebar for a time, as it fell onto me and knocked me into stasis. I-- I was able to dislodge myself, but the rebar had knocked my communications systems out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Communications systems?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t call or text anyone, nor speak to any androids wirelessly. It’s still broken.” Connor said. His hands crawled up slowly to Gavin’s shoulders, where in one swift movement they were pulled together in a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry, Gavin. I didn’t realize you thought I hadn’t made it out. If I had known--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop,” Gavin said as his throat tightened. “You couldn’tve known. Just-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus, Connor, I’m so happy you’re okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face scrunched up as his breath hitched again, but this time it wasn't the cold knife of anxiety pressing into his sternum, no it was overwhelming </span>
  <em>
    <span>relief</span>
  </em>
  <span> that caused tears to start silently streaming down his face and his shoulders to shake. Connor’s hands stayed tightly wound behind Gavin’s shoulder blades as he cursed weak insults into the crook of Connor’s neck, spewing nasty things he very obviously didn’t mean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m alright, Gavin.” Connor murmured close to his ear. “It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And hell, if Connor didn’t make everything okay by some fucking miracle, then Gavin must’ve been really, really delusional. Every time Connor was in his presence to witness his breakdowns or outbursts, just being there in any capacity enabled Gavin to cool off faster, and get back to what mattered. And when Gavin thought he’d lose that-- that dependability, well. He’s crying into Connor’s shoulder, so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a solid time of embracing, Gavin pushed off of Connor and gave him a red-eyed glare, sniffling and putting his index finger directly in the center of the android’s chest. “I’m fucking glad you’re okay-- but do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking pull shit like that again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor seemed to consider it, almost ostentatiously. “I won’t, but as long as if you promise not to put your life in unnecessary danger.” he said, somehow stern and soft at the same time. Gavin’s blank stare prompted him to continue. “You fell out of a building, Gavin. And you dragged someone down with you, which decreased your chance of survival and landing unscathed by terrifying amounts.” he motioned towards Gavin’s boot. “You are extremely lucky that the only thing you broke was your ankle-- and not your neck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already got the spiel from Tina, no need to keep repeatin’ it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a kind look, Connor brought up a hand to Gavin’s face and thumbed away some of the moisture. “She’s right, but I’m glad you’re okay, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin was the one to pull back into the embrace this time, and while his leg may have protested violently at all the standing, he held on tight like Connor would let go at any moment and slip away. Connor remained solid, though, and Gavin just barely reached up behind the android’s back and gently brushed the little hairs at the base of his scalp with the pads of his fingers. The motion was soothing, and it appeared to be less one sided than Gavin thought, and he heard Connor inhale and exhale deeply, despite not needing to breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said there were two things,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin brought his head back to look Connor in the eyes, face schooled. Connor asked again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said there were two things,” he nearly whispered. “What was the secon--</span>
  <em>
    <span>mmpf!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s words were cut short as Gavin pulled him down and slotted their lips together, tilting his head a bit to make it easier with Connor’s height. The android’s words trailed off into a hum and then silence as Gavin pressed them together, desperately hoping he wasn’t fucking up royally by doing this-- that Connor wouldn’t push him away. For a moment, he entertained the idea of Connor being repulsed by this, shoving Gavin off of him and wiping his lips with a disgusted sneer. The image made Gavin still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor still hadn’t done anything-- just stood stiffly like a board as Gavin kissed him. The silence in the observation room was deafening, and every tiny and minute movement made by either of them would have made him flinch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was taking too long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin accepted the truth-- this was a massive mistake. He pulled away, slowly, as if the time spent separating would somehow cleanse the moment, make it seem less terrible. Or maybe he was just trying to pretend it wasn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened his eyes. Connor was just… staring at him, shocked, lips slightly parted and cheeks dusted blue in an almost sinful image. The android’s eyes shot around erratically over Gavin’s face, seeing something he couldn’t. He could sit here forever and watch his expressions morph atomically and frequently. He wondered if Connor’s LED would be red or yellow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s heart shook and sank when Connor didn’t say anything-- just kept gawking and not shifting an inch. Their eyes met for an infinitesimal moment and Gavin darted his gaze downwards in sick shame, shaking his head bitterly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It happened very fast: Connor’s hands shot up to Gavin’s jaw and forced his face upwards, his eyes examined his face in that sporadic way again, and then once again their lips were pressed together, linking them in a way Gavin had only dreamt about until now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor was kissing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Connor was kissing him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knowledge that Connor initiated this, that he wanted this, sent electricity down Gavin’s sternum and around his back in a warm and thick wave. It was clear that Connor was hesitant and unfamiliar with the action of kissing-- but Gavin was more than happy to lead the way. He pushed some motion into it, a gentle trade back and forth with their lips, and the other man picked it up smartly with a little more pressure. Connor’s thumbs snaked over Gavin’s cheekbones as he pushed against his body, closer and like a fucking dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted it to last forever, and dying here because he couldn’t breathe all that well while sucking face with Connor honestly didn’t seem like a bad way to die. But Tina would fucking kill him if he got hurt </span>
  <em>
    <span>kissing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> so he pulled away with a gasp, heaving breaths in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin grinned stupidly at the half-lidded look on Connor’s face as they seperated. “Sorry, Con.” he said. “Gotta breathe-- gimme a sec.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor nodded, some beautifully astonished expression causing him to swallow and bite his lip. God, watching Connor bite his lip was unbelievably hot, Gavin thought as he pulled Connor in close to keep up the intoxicating pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was absolutely indescribable. His ears roared and his heart thrummed in rhythm to their exchange-- and Gavin gasped when Connor laid a hand on his shoulder and pushed him against the cold observation window with a subtle thud. He continued his efforts into the kiss tenfold, and started running his hands up and down Connor’s sides and chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was better than he’d hoped. Every movement, every sensation, felt like it had been stuck on high. He’d worried so much about this-- even right as it was happening, that he’d denied himself the opportunity to fantasize too much. But in all honesty, this entire situation couldn’t hold a candle to any fantasies he could’ve brewed up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stuck his hands underneath (Gavin’s) leather jacket that was currently hugging Connor’s figure like a model in a photoshoot, drifting them to Connor’s waist where he gave them a little squeeze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound that came out of Connor’s mouth was downright </span>
  <em>
    <span>sinful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was high, almost some sort of whine, and as soon as it happened Connor pulled away, surprised as if it had slipped out unbidden. It probably had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor seemed to reign himself in, but still never taking his eyes off Gavin’s lips. Visibly schooling himself, he managed to murmur, “We should be getting back to the bullpen, Gavin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head fell back onto the glass, the feathers of his wing’s main joint tickling his hot ears and temples. He may have been sucking air into his lungs like a dog, but he would much rather continue what they were getting into right now than go out there and face all the assholes. And Tina. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re fucking talking about this shit later, Connor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s eyebrows furrowed. “I wouldn’t avoid it anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Gavin reiterates. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> would. Don’t let me chicken out, ‘kay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right as Connor turned to exit the room, face still blushing a vibrant blue and his pupils blown wide, Gavin snagged Connor by the hood of his jacket and pulled him in, landing a peck on the lips and then following it up with. “Why’re you wearing my jacket?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor immediately begins trying to shed the layer, mumbling sheepish gibberish likely impacted by his flustered state. Putting a stop to that fast, Gavin sets his hand on Connor’s forearms and pries them off the jacket to keep him from taking it off. “Never said it wasn’t okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… noticed it was still here when I got back to the precinct after my minor repairs at the nearby CyberLife store. It was familiar and I--” he started for a second. “I put it on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks, good, but, uh, I’m gonna need it back eventually.” Connor made another move to take it off. “Not right now! At least when I head home. ‘Cause my keys and all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a brief additional moment of staring sickeningly sweetly into each other's eyes (Gavin would’ve gagged had it been anyone else) they shuffled back into the bullpen, and Gavin was sure to puff out his chest and stick an unfriendly look on his face to ward off any pricks who might catch a clue of what just went down. Tina caught his eyes across the bullpen, and she shot him a wide grin with a cheesy thumbs up which caused Gavin to duck his head in order to hide his reddened face. Guess it was pretty obvious, then. Not only had he just tried to suck Connor’s face right off, he’d also cried a bit-- he probably looked some exceptional combination of horny and high. Or at least horny and sad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s presence next to him didn’t leave even as he approached his desk and took a wobbly seat after grabbing his crutch. The android just took a seat a little quietly on the edge of the desk, carefully avoiding any of the objects on top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They locked eyes for a moment, but Connor broke the connection first in favor of watching Tina stomp over to their positions with terrifying speed. She pointed at Gavin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mind if I talk to him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina’s eyes shifted around, subtly bringing Connor’s attention to their surroundings. “...alone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Connor said, a little blankly. “I’ll… be at my desk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Watching Connor’s retreating form with a little bit of incredulity, Gavin leveled Tina with an unimpressed stare. “The fuck is that about? Seemed pretty jazzed about him, what, twenty seconds ago?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know,-- I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>happy that you finally made a move,” she said. She huddled in a little closer, her wings bringing themselves up for a mediocre privacy shield. “But there's been developments I guess, with the whole Oneiros thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tina. Connor’s on that case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a roll of her eyes, Tina crossed her arms. “I know that, but I didn’t want him to hear the whole lot of it from me, alright? It’s your guys’ case. Not mine. That being said-- the store was able to fix the guy up fine, but isn’t waking up and the techies can’t figure out why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin leaned back in his seat. “The fuck does that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s in some sort of self-initiated coma or something, and the CyberLife guys at the store can’t figure it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So we can’t question him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’. “But they’re still bringing him here for holding. Said the shop wasn’t boarding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pursing his lips, Gavin tapped his thumb on his pants. That was fucking great, wasn’t it? The bastard sling shot himself into a coma so they couldn’t pick his brain, apparently, and that was troublesome in itself-- not to mention that they still had no real way to connect the bombings at Jericho with the shooting at Stratford, even if it was pretty fucking clear to Gavin that Oneiros-Ancaeus was very much responsible for both. They needed the androids’ word-- not some DPD detective’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina gave him a friendly push on his shoulder. “Congrats with Connor, though!-- speaking of which, he’s looking pretty antsy over there. I’ll leave you two to it.” she said. She was gone soon after that, disappearing through the gate towards the lobby, probably heading to a shift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He caught Connor’s eyes and waved him over. It was pretty obvious that Connor was trying his hardest to look like he wasn’t attempting to listen in on their little exchange with his (probable) super robo-hearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about that,” Gavin sighed with a shrug. “I got a lot to update you on, apparently. Where do you wanna start?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Considering his reply, Connor answered, “I’d appreciate it if you’d begin as to why you were falling from Stratford, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ouch. Cold. That hurt a little. “Yeah, okay. So Oneiros-- or Ancaeus, I guess--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pardon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit, I didn’t tell you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blew air through his lips, realizing Tina was right when she had told him there was a lot to inform. “Jesus. Ancaeus was Oneiros the entire time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s eyes darkened. “That’s not funny, Gavin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not fucking jokin’, Con. It’s fucked up. Got played like a fiddle.” He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling that shitty sensation that’d plagued his chest last night rear it’s stupid head again. Connor’s expression stayed dark, but comprehension seeped into his eyes with a grim clarity as he stepped back and seated himself on the desk again. He was probably reviewing all the information and then planning on beating himself up about it afterwards. Not quite liking that idea, Gavin said, “Hey. Don’t sweat it, okay? Maybe if the FBI hadn’t been up our asses we’d be able to see the red flags and stuff- but half the time the case wasn’t even ours, y’know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole situation sucked-- and Gavin would’ve beaten Connor to the whole ‘self-beating’ if he hadn’t indulged so liberally the previous night. “I’ll keep going, though. Oneiros had somehow infiltrated the FBI and gotten a spot in the broadcasting room. After a while he took a shot and missed, and after a scuffle he chucked me out a broken window. I grabbed him and took him down with me a ways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was extremely reckless of you, Gavin.” Connor said. “But I heard the elevators had stopped, which meant it was entirely likely that Markus was still in the hallways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh shit. Maybe his little petty moment of revenge was a good idea after all. If he hadn't dragged Oneiros down with him, he probably would’ve stepped over Skip’s prone body and into the hallways, and gunned everyone down. “Damn,” he muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor remained silent but nodded slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I had to let go, obviously. Broke some stuff in the landing but that didn’t stop me from getting a good shot as he was trying to escape. Went down a block or so over, Tina and I chased him, ‘nother scuffle, shot him again--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shot him </span>
  <em>
    <span>twice</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only after he shot first! O ye of little faith.” Gavin scoffed. Jeez. “Then we loaded him into the squad car and brought him to a CyberLife place so he didn’t bleed out. He didn’t, by the way, which brings us to what Tina pulled me aside to tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which was?” Connor prompted, almost just as antsy as he was when he was at his own desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s like, locked himself into unconsciousness. Techies can’t wake him up,” sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, careful of his sliced up hand. “They’re bringing him over soon. Think you’ll be able to do anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If they hadn’t had reasonable, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>reason</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they wouldn’t be allowed to probe the guy’s memory. It was a whole new part of android rights, and access to an android’s system was similar to acquiring a warrant-- anything outside of warrants and overwhelming suspicion needed explicit consent from the person in question. Good thing they had more than enough stuff to not only sort through some of the android’s data, but to also probably lock him up for life. Especially if they got him to confess to the Jericho explosions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I might.” Connor said. “But there’s always a chance I can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching over, Gavin laid a hand on Connor’s knee, recognizing he was still feeling shitty about the whole Oneiros thing. “Hey, do what you can. Remember?” he said, calling back to the night Hank got hospitalized-- and realized he really oughta practice what he preaches, ‘cause he distinctly remembered Tina telling him almost the exact same thing last night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some shuffling caused him to turn over his shoulder to the sight of Tina hauling an unfortunately familiar android into the bullpen, followed by the short and stocky technician from the CyberLife shop and the FBI agent who had ‘assisted’ on the case. Gone was the stolen FBI gear and vest, and in their place was a ratty old t-shirt and shorts that probably came out of someone’s personal locker-- or at least a trash bin. The secondary pair of wings at the middle lower back that had hidden surprisingly well under the tactical vest now hung a little awkwardly out the hem of the shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin realized with a jolt that part of the android infiltrating so well is that his wings were </span>
  <em>
    <span>brown</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not the standard white that CyberLife offered. In the rush of all the action he hadn’t even realized. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In hindsight, the unnaturally even tone of the wings should have been a signal to something wrong, but Gavin had been seeing more and more dyed feathers now than he did when he was a kid-- so who was he to judge if an FBI grunt dyed his feathers? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speak of the devil,” Gavin muttered. “Hey, techie!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the call, the trio swung their heads over towards him. While Tina continued to bring the android to the holding cells accompanied by the FBI P.O.S., the techie approached with a swagger that seemed awfully performative considering it looked like he was sweating through his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the issue with him?” Gavin asked plainly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bead of sweat pooled at the technician’s temple as he pulled at his sleeves. “Well, he’s kind of, uh, comatose in a way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we know that, smartass. Can we wake him up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe, uh, Detective. Me and the other workers tried the best we could, but a lot of his code was completely indecipherable.” he said with a shaky lilt. “We can try to call in a superior who might have some experience in this foreign coding language--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That will not be needed.” Connor interjected. “I can attempt to force him out of stasis.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guy relaxed a little. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure if they’d be able to do it anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holding back a scoff, Gavin let Connor guide him and the techie over to the holding cell Oneiros was inside, seated limply against a wall propped up by nothing but his own weight. He was sure to grab his crutch this time around. It may be uncomfy and clunky, but it helped him walk so who was he to complain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Setting his hand on the scanner and letting his skin peel back, Connor entered the room with a precise stride, bent down at a precise angle, and grabbed Oneiros hand with a calculated grip. It was clear: he didn’t want them to know he was unsure if he could do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a tense few moments of quiet as Connor stood still with his hand attached to Oneiros’s. From Gavin’s viewpoint, he could see Oneiros’s LED spin and spit different colors as Connor worked his magic in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s hand pulled away sharply and Oneiros’s LED spun blue once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t get up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiffly, Connor exited the room and briefly explained the situation. “It’s completely indecipherable.” he stated, eyes drifting downwards. “I apologize.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Indecipherable code? Zlatko must’ve a shitton more to this ‘droid than just switch up his parts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” the techie stammered, glancing at the FBI agent and Tina who were spectating. “I can go call my boss really quick--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don't,” Gavin said, like an idiot. He was going to regret this, big time. “I think I know someone who can help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saying he ‘knew’ Elijah was a pretty peculiar phrase. He didn’t say Kamski or Elijah specifically, but Connor looked at him with a look that said ‘are you sure?’. Everyone else just seemed intrigued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sending Connor a reassuring look, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and stepped out of the area, opening Elijah’s texts.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:11): Hey. Connor’s okay. A little banged up but otherwise fine. Thanks for helping where you could last night.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:13): That’s a relief-- and you’re welcome. I trust the Stratford shooter has been apprehended?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:13): Yeah. About that. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:13): Have they not?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:14): He’s in custody, don’t worry. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:14): But he’s locked himself into a coma or some shit. No one can seem to knock him out of it-- not Connor or the CyberLife techies who patched him up. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:15): Do you need my help, Gavin? I’ll have to move some meetings around but I can be there in an hour.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (8:17): Yeah. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck you (8:17): Alright. Thank you for coming to me.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>To be honest, Gavin couldn’t give less of a shit about Eli’s meetings, but he couldn’t help the twinge of guilt at making him rearrange his likely stuffed schedule to accommodate for his DPD shenanigans. He pushed the feeling down. Fuck Eli and fuck CyberLife. They could live without each other for an hour or so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Returning back to the group, Tina said to him as he approached, “So… who you text?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin desperately kept himself from snapping something rude to her. Instead, he just shrugged weakly. “I guess you’ll find out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In hindsight, that probably came off as too exciting-- nothing about this situation was fucking exciting. Annoying? Yes. Pathetic? Definitely. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Exciting</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Not so much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glancing at Oneiros, Gavin briefly lamented the fact he hadn’t worn his DPD vest-- with a camera, he’d be able to look back on the vest footage and get Oneiros’s bit about Jericho as evidence, but he’d been wearing the FBI bullshit. Tina hadn’t come out with any stuff or footage from her own body cam, so she might’ve been wearing an old one that day-- and it was likely considering almost the entire force had been out and about in some way or another. Fucking great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An awkward hour followed. He milled around the precinct for maybe about fifteen minutes before he sucked it up and decided to take a shower in the DPD’s gym shower. He hadn’t the previous night and it was starting to make him feel incredibly grimy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shower ended up being exactly what he needed to calm down a little and get his mind off of everything, even if it was only for maybe ten, fifteen minutes. He didn’t even have any soap, but just rinsing off was borderline therapeutic, though he did take extra care to avoid his boot and his wings especially, not wanting to soak the boot or have to dry his feathers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He toweled off his hair before slipping into his clothes again, but swapping out the shirt for the shirt he’d left at the station the previous day. It was just comfier. Instead of going back to the bullpen he seated himself on a bench somewhere quiet and dicked around on his phone for some time, playing mindless games and very purposely avoiding the news and social media. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour passed sickeningly quickly. At some point, Connor had joined him wordlessly, deigning to simply sit next to him on the bench and stare ahead, occasionally peering at the game Gavin was playing. After a while:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Gavin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor paused. “I know you feel guilty about the humanity lessons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he grumbled. “Seems kind of degrading now. I didn’t even really do any. Why are you thankin’ me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted the lessons to feel more… connected with the people around me. You made me realize what I was doing wrong.” he stated. Gavin had long since abandoned his phone game in favor of giving Connor his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did I do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made me realize I was too worried about it. Things happen-- I just need to be patient.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gee, Con.” Gavin swallowed thickly. “I’m glad you came to that conclusion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s head came to rest on Gavin's, his height making his shoulder an uncomfortable impossibility. “Me, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patience, huh. Gavin recognized he was speaking about how patient he had to be with Gavin the whole time through his nasty words and sour disposition to get to where they were now. Together, at least. It was a good lesson to learn, and he definitely hadn’t made it easy. Gavin definitely got more out of their lessons than just flying, too-- that’s for sure. Hopefully they’d both come out of this whole dizzying experience having learned something, whether it be patience or… just letting people care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina’s head popped around the corner and she waved them over with a troubled look. Barely keeping himself from slamming the back of his head into the wall, Gavin shared a look with Connor as he grabbed his crutch and hobbled back to the bullpen with no enthusiasm whatsoever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yep- there he was, Kamski, in all his business-attire glory. It was clear he had been prepared for a meeting of some sort-- Eli usually dressed in what could be described as chic casual or something, but in the button-up formal shirt and slacks he was wearing he looked the part of CEO of one of the biggest American companies ever. In one hand, his big ass tech case that he hauled around like a designer bag. In the other, a cherry coke, being innocently held out in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina elbowed Gavin’s ribs. “I think he’s trying to give it to you,” she whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Face burning, Gavin’s eyes darted around to catch the prying stares of the bullpen, and with a defensive sneer towards the onlookers, grabbed the coke with an audible ‘thanks’, popped the tab, and took a sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, he hadn’t had a cherry coke in years. The pop’s sharp carbonation shot him back to a time where things were easier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elijah had definitely brought it as a peace offering, after invading the DPD the last time he’d showed up-- and Gavin wasn’t one to turn away a cherry coke, even from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here to help with your case, Officer,” Elijah stated for Tina. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, she eyed the two with suspicion. “All right,” she said. With a questioning glance at Gavin, she led Elijah toward the holding cell Oneiros was sitting in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they left, Gavin peered into the open hole in the can, looking for anything wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He gave you a cherry coca-cola?” Connor muttered, bringing his hand up to tilt the can for a better look at the label. It was an ordinary can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sipping it again, Gavin tried to appear nonchalant about it. “Used to share ‘em when we were kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor was clearly unsatisfied with that answer, but any more prodding about it would definitely make Gavin wanna bolt. In one swift movement, Connor’s hand dug around the pocket of the jacket and extracted the worry stone, setting it into Gavin’s palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gratitude must’ve shown on his face, ‘cause Connor smiled warmly at him and he felt his insides melt into mushy goop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elijah had ended up moving Oneiros to an interrogation room, where Tina cuffed his hands and even gave the seldom-used wing restraints some use, locking the dyed wings into a tight position. Utilizing several outlets that were usually hidden (for safety reasons), his half-brother set up his compact monitor and keyboard on a card table probably pulled from a supply closet, with the bulky PC next to the matching chair Elijah sat on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor chose to remain outside the room (or maybe in the observation room?) as Gavin took a sweat in the chair across from Oneiros, and next to Elijah. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holding his coke out for Eli, he asked, “Where’s Chloe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elijah’s head turn upwards from the monitor until he was peering over the top rim of his goofy fuckin’ glasses. After a glance at the can, he took it and brought it to his lips. He set the can down on the table between them, after a sip or two. “She’s managing CyberLife while I’m gone.” With a little bit of a wry smirk, he added, “But she does that even when I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Exhaling sharply in a quiet laugh, Gavin shook his head and let the room fall into silence as Elijah began to parse through the code of Oneiros.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brows furrowed. Some furious clicks later, he pulled the chair closer to the table and set his chin in the dip between his forefinger and thumb. Eyes flicking furiously over what was certainly miles of code and text, Gavin watched as Elijah’s expressions morphed and darkened after a minute or so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eli sat back in his chair with an uncharacteristic slouch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somethin’ wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t believe his base model is from CyberLife. Actually,” he amended, “I’m positive his base model is Russian.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s jaw dropped. “You’re fucking kidding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how I’d prove it to you, so you’ll have to take my word for it.” Elijah said dryly. Carefully and pointedly ignoring the possible jab at his intelligence (Connor would be so proud), Gavin leaned forward and pointed at Oneiros.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, so you can’t crack him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never said that,” Elijah almost snapped, wings rustling. Inside, Gavin felt a little triumphant on baiting him right back. “It’s just… going to take a moment to understand the different coding, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin nodded faux wistfully. “Of course, of course. Any idea how long that’ll take?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might want to go grab some lunch,” he said. “It could be a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin just about slammed his face into the table. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>smooch smooch!! there it is! :) it finally happened! wow, they grow up so fast :,) this is another chapter I had to break up int two parts, but I'm fairly certain this is the second to last chapter. one more week, y'all! (I think....)</p><p>AGAIN: Thank you so much for sticking with this fic, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter very much! See you next week.</p><p>Next Up: Things just might turn out okay, if Connor's there.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. It's Going to be Alright</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Oneiros is interrogated, and things seem to just go right for once.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>NEW FOOTAGE OF JERICHO’S CONNOR SURFACES ONLINE</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The past two days have been nothing but eventful for Detroit residents and anyone privy to the recent happenings in Detroit and the Detroit Area, with the Jericho bombing being one of the events most at the forefront. Rumors of RK800 “Connor”, a notable figure from the Android Revolution, being the first to call for Jericho’s evacuation and subsequently saving hundreds of lives have been prevalent as soon as twenty minutes after the bombs went off. Recently, however, sparse CCTV footage has surfaced online depicting Connor doing much more than just call for evacuation. </span>
  </em>
  <span class="u">
    <em>
      <span>These videos</span>
    </em>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span> show footage of Connor diffusing active bombs, sprinting through the air with unbelievable speed, and eventually shielding an android with his own body. His current whereabouts are unknown alongside his condition.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Donate to the New Jericho rebuilding fund </span>
  </em>
  <span class="u">
    <em>
      <span>here</span>
    </em>
  </span>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went and got lunch-- but before they did that, Connor decided to stop by the hospital to see Hank and drag Gavin along. The hospital was still as fucked up as Gavin remembered, but at least Hank had been moved to the ‘not-on-death’s-door’ floor so he didn’t have any more involuntary recollections of his mother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait--” Hank interrupted, leveling the two of them with a tired, overworked look. “--you’re fucking telling me that Ancaeus and Oneiros were the same goddamn person the whole time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup,” Gavin answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank’s wings rustled the hospital bed sheets and he shifted. Gone were the medical gowns and tubing from before, and in their place was just a well-worn t-shirt with a band logo on it and something (he presumed) on his legs that Connor also brought him earlier. “I need a beer.” he said plainly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor shot him a look but said nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you leaving this shit hole anytime soon?” Gavin asked, not enjoying the silence that had filled the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Groaning, Hank looked about twenty years older than he actually was for a moment. “I fucking hope so!” pointing at Connor, Hank very pointedly said, “I could leave today if I wanted, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> wants me to stay here for the full time. I don’t even know how my insurance is paying for this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hank,” Connor said, “It’s the DPD’s insurance. I’ve told you this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. Still. I want out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin leaned over toward Connor and stage-whispered, “I think we should let him leave, Con.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Hank’s expectant gaze, Connor folded with a frown and a slight sulk.  “Alright, alright. Please don’t gang up on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great!” Hank said, with enthusiasm surely meant to ruffle Connor’s feathers. He began to shift around the bed, much to Connor’s ire, and after a swift yanking of hospital sheets off of legs (to which Gavin averted his eyes, not wanting to see Hank’s boxers), Hank carefully swung his legs over the side and gestured for Connor. “C’mon, we’re going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>now!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> do. I ain’t gonna miss this Oneiros junk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glancing up and down Hank, Connor fumbled for a moment. “I- Hank.” After a moment of consideration, he continued. “You’re taking the wheelchair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank looked like he desperately wanted to fight that, but Connor’s tone was resolute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In almost no time at all, Hank was maneuvered into a pair of pants (after a few painful mishaps) and into a wheelchair with only minor cursing and grumbling on Hank’s part. It took a moment for Hank to settle into the chair, with his brutal leg injury still healing, but once he had he’d tried wheeling himself out of the room until Connor swooped in and pushed him around instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank obviously didn’t enjoy how carefully Connor was wheeling him around-- making his turns wide and slow, carefully avoiding any inconsistencies in ground texture-- and when Hank sent a long-suffering look Gavin’s way, Gavin snickered. It was endearing of Connor to be so cautious with Hank, and Gavin wasn’t going to stop him because it was probably some sort of repentance or catharsis for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, the wheelchair folded up and could fit in the backseat where Gavin was relegated to. Of course Hank got the front seat, or at least passenger’s when injured, but it didn’t stop Gavin from being a little bitter at being seated like a child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We gettin’ lunch?” Gavin asked while keeping the wheelchair from moving too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor nodded. “Yes, and I’m letting Hank pick where since he insisted on discharging himself today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank snorted at Connor’s pointed comment but didn’t say anything on it. “Hospital food sucks, Con. You know exactly what I’m thinkin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. Then-- “While your cholesterol will suffer-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>immensely</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I suppose it would be rude to deny you.” he said plainly and with no enthusiasm whatsoever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin didn’t ask what they were talking about, and was only given information as Connor pulled the car in front of a food truck-- Chicken Feed, it said, with some sparse seating nearby. He’d never been, but to be honest a chicken sandwich or something sounded fucking fantastic. He couldn’t remember if he’d eaten that morning, and getting something down now that he knew Connor was okay seemed like a good idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not letting Hank leave the car and instead having him recite his order, Connor led Gavin up to the truck. Lagging behind just a little, Gavin took a moment to appreciate the way Connor looked in his leather jacket. It was the same kind of feeling he got when Connor had borrowed his clothes that night of the explosion, some sort of pulsing possessiveness just under his skin that made Gavin want to yank Connor back by his arms and hold him tight. It was a little jarring, to be honest, but he let the feeling wash over him, enjoying the fact that Connor made him feel like this. He didn’t deny it any longer-- and he’d have to be a fucking fool to after Connor kissed him breathless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Connor repeated Hank’s order to the guy in the truck, Gavin let himself feel content in that moment, next to Connor, standing in front of a shitty food truck side by side. The worst had passed, for now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin ordered a chicken sandwich (same as Hank), and then after a brief moment of thought ordered a second one. He wasn’t going to eat both-- he didn’t have </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> much of an appetite-- but he was going to bring it back for Elijah. Just to pay the cherry coke debt. Yeah. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he ordered a lemonade to go with it, figuring that since Elijah drank from the same can earlier that he wouldn’t mind sharing a straw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor must’ve caught on to his thought process, because at some point while the food was getting bagged Gavin caught his partner sending him knowing looks out of the corner of his eye. Gavin hated being transparent like that, but figured it wasn’t so bad as long it was Connor who could see through him, with his trusting eyes and all that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Gavin settled into the smelly backseat, Hank had already dug into his sandwich, eating it like a neglected pet who hadn’t seen sustenance in months. Gavin watched with morbid fascination as it almost disappeared into his beard-- the only thing indicating its previous existence being a crumpled up wrapper now being set back into the bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In reality, it had happened through maybe half of the car ride, but it was so unbelievably gross that Gavin’s unwavering gaze made it feel like an instant. He didn’t dare touch his own food, wanting to eat it on solid ground and not in the car, though he did take an occasional sip of the lemonade until they pulled into the DPD garage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Many happy faces shouted their surprises and ‘welcome back’s upon Hank’s arrival, some walking up and giving him a jovial clap on the back or humorously threatening to steal the chair from Connor and take Hank on a joyride. Connor fiercely --but politely-- warded them off as they made their way to the observation room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Connor wheeled his father-figure in, Gavin opted to set his hand on the scanner and bring the bag in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elijah didn’t look up from the screen until the bag was set firmly next to the monitor, in which he looked up and raised a questioning eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lunch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wordlessly, Elijah took the bag and peered inside, extracting the sandwich ike it was a ticking time bomb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a fucking chicken sandwich, Eli,” Gavin said, mentally kicking himself for using the nickname. “What’s it gonna do? Jump at ya?” He wiggled his fingers to exacerbate the ‘spookiness’ of a moving sandwich.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unamused, Elijah unwrapped it and took a bite almost defiantly. Honestly, it wouldn’t have come off as so to anyone else, but even if Gavin hadn’t interacted with Elijah for almost a decade prior to that month he still knew his half-brother better than most. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plopping down into the open chair across Oneiros, Gavin set the lemonade down, next to the now-empty cherry coke can, clearly to be shared between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something in Gavin wanted to hate the amicable silence and company they shared. He’d cut Elijah out of his life after the death of their mother, after Elijah had failed to show up for her funeral. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His own mother’s funeral</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Gavin had always thought there was something irreconcilably apathetic about his half-brother, always buried in his studies and his future, rather than just living life as it was in the moment, but when that happened-- when Gavin had to attend his mother’s funeral alone-- it was the final nail in the coffin, both proverbially and literally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But… that Elijah didn’t line up with this one. The one that was currently chowing down on a subpar chicken sandwich while making goofy faces at a computer screen was Elijah, not the one who disregarded his own mother’s funeral for something he thought was bigger than it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten years could do a lot to someone, Gavin mused, but that didn’t mean he trusted his half brother-- not in the slightest. It just meant there was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibility </span>
  </em>
  <span>of trust in the far, far future, and as he ate his sandwich too, Gavin could see that happening at some point, but with a pang of disgust at how easily he folded. Years of hatred over-- for what? A chicken sandwich? A cherry coke? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made him want to laugh-- but he didn’t, because suddenly Oneiros’s body jerked something fierce and wild, attempting to thrash but being held down by the restraints. Elijah jumped back, pulling the table with his equipment away from the android, and before Elijah had a chance to, Gavin had sprung to his feet and pulled the plug from Oneiros’s neck. Quickly handing it to Elijah, Gavin oversaw him packing his stuff up and said, “He gonna knock himself out again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shouldering his bad, Elijah shook his head. “No, I disabled his protocol-- but that isn’t gonna stop him from attempting to sel-destruct.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fearing those words would give the android an idea, Gavin turned his head and was thankfully met with a dark glare rather than gored brains and/or skull. After he’d ushered Elijah out, he packed up the card table as well as he could with a crutch in the other hand and brought it out into the hallway, where he carefully leaned it on the wall before stepping into the viewing room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ,” he said none-too quietly. “The fuck is this, a party?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Six pairs of eyes regarded him with varying levels of warmth. The observation room was packed like sardines, and Gavin quickly added, “I hate to ask this of you, Teens, but could you take the technician and Kamski </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the observation room that’s meant for people on the case?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina, agreeing with him with a little bit of a long suffering stare, had to move the technician from his spot of staring at Elijah (with something fucking gross in his eyes) but didn’t have to make Elijah move to get him to leave as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Left inside was (himself not included) three people-- Hank, Connor, and the FBI agent whose name he still didn’t care enough to know. Hank and Connor were discussing something lowly, but the FBI agent, well, he was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>examining</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gavin, like he held some sort of deep secret in his face. It made Gavin uncomfortable, truth be told, so he put a nasty sneer on his face and glared at the agent, willing him to say something so he could spit out insults right back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t say anything, instead raising an eyebrow and moving his gaze to the android looking about ready to kick someone’s knees in in the interrogation room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pursing his lips, Gavin said, “You wanna go in, Con? All we need is him to say something about Jericho.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s head shot up from where he’d been conversing with Hank, and he considered it for a moment. Looking back at Gavin with a little bit of a grimace, he nodded. “I’ll try and make it quick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Watching Connor’s demeanor change as he stalked into the interrogation room was an absolute thrill for Gavin. Gone was the slightly soft and squishy posture and mannerisms that Connor held not two moments before, and in their place was the efficient movements of a highly efficient professional. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor, a little uncharacteristically, let his wings flare out a good half a foot past his shoulders. Whether it was an intimidation tactic or a matter of pride and showing Oneiros he wasn’t the only flyable android around was beyond Gavin, but it was clearly a calculated decision, along with the almost unimpressed look Connor adopted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you state your name?” Connor asked. “For the audio recording.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oneiros blinked slowly, and did not answer. His LED was facing the one way mirror, so Gavin could watch it as it turned a lazy, slow blue. Connor’s eyes flicked upwards at the LED, and Oneiros blinked sluggishly again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jealous?” he asked, voice gently stern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not responding and raising to the bait, Connor opened the file he’d brought in. What was in it, Gavin didn’t know, but it was probably stuff from Stratford, the murders, and Jericho.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you offer to help the DPD in your own case?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you work here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure you understand.” Connor stated. “You are in custody, and being questioned for your crimes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> am asking those questions, not you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a barely noticeable pursing of his lips, Oneiros leveled Connor with an innocent tilting of his head. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>My </span>
  </em>
  <span>crimes? But, Connor, that’s awfully rich coming from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Connor’s silence, Oneiros continued unabated. “Deviant hunter. Designed to neutralize androids who ran from their slavers.” he clicked his tongue. “Now working for your wardens. It’s interesting, how things don’t change.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Gavin’s relief, it didn’t seem like Connor was being affected by his words. “Is that it?” he mused nonchalantly aloud. “You don’t like androids helping humans? That seems shallow for murder--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They had </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> what was coming for them.” Oneiros hissed. Gavin felt a bit of triumph at the break in exterior. Oneiros’s wings twitched for a moment as he regained his composure, LED poking at yellow for a moment. “Androids helping humans-- after what they’ve done--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To you?” Connor poked. “After what they did to you, I presume. Your experiences aren’t universal--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor continued to brush Oneiros off more and more, until it seemed Oneiros would have an aneurism or something from his rage and pent up issues or something. Only when Oneiros’s LED circled red for a solid second did Gavin realize what Connor’s approach was. Oneiros really, really liked to be known and recognized for his ‘work’. Why else would he infiltrate the DPD as a witness and lead them on, or set traps, or hell, shoot at robo-jesus </span>
  <em>
    <span>Markus</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His partner’s approach was wonderfully planned, Gavin realized with satisfaction. He was denying Oneiros any sense of accomplishment by downplaying his actions as petty works of revenge, like a lover’s spat-- and it was driving him nuts. At every available moment would Connor mention that no one died in the mansion, that no one died at Stratford, and that the bomb to death ratio at Jericho had been 7:1.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point, when Connor mentioned the mansion again, Oneiros spat, “It’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn</span>
  </em>
  <span> shame the shrapnel didn’t kill him. If it’d make you feel an ounce of pain at the hands of a human, even if it was by their death, so help me--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, before Oneiros could finish Connor began to flip through the file disinterestedly. “Don’t be rude. He’s watching us right now, and I don’t think he’d appreciate what you’re saying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oneiros’s head flicked to the side at the mirror, as if he could peer through the mirror… and then he paused, and his light turned yellow, blue, yellow, then finally landed back on a comfortable blue. “What of the detective?” he murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What of who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reed.” Oneiros almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>purrs</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Gavin’s wings shudder at his tone. What was he playing at? Connor didn't seem to enjoy the switch in topic, as his head tilted downward and his uncaring facade started to fade. Oneiros continued. “I think he’s a prime example of your faults, R-K-eight-hundred. I mean, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates </span>
  </em>
  <span>our kind. Didn’t he try to murder you?” Gavin bit his tongue as displeasure soaked his stomach. That was a long time ago. A frown wormed its way onto both his and Connor’s faces. “It’s disgusting. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> disgusting.” he said. “He despises your very existence, and what do you do? You want him to bend you over a table and make you his--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s hand is on the speaker button before he has the time to think of something to say. It was instinct, really, to get him to shut the fuck up. Everyone froze, including the inhabitants of the interrogation room when the speakers buzzed with static at the button press.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He floundered for a moment, but forced his voice to stay even, eventually drawling, “Gee, jealous much? All you gotta do is ask,” he fumbled, tacking on, “...sweetcakes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank choked on his own spit and even the FBI agent shook his head. That didn’t matter to Gavin, though-- what mattered to him was the smug look on Oneiros’s face dropping like lead, and being replaced by fiery rage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I’d known that you’d be in Stratford and be a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>thorn</span>
  </em>
  <span> in my side, I’d have stayed at Jericho!” he seethed. His wrists struggled against the table cuffs and his wings quivered with every mechanical breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor jumped on the opportunity. “Why stay at Jericho?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oneiros’s head whipped around, his LED blinking red and his face contorting as he sneered, “To watch your friend die! Why else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone went silent-- even the android who’d just spat a close confession. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be enough, Gavin realized with a spot of triumph. That’s all they needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seems you understand your position now,” Connor stated. “Let’s try this one more time. Would you please state your name and model? For the recording.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The android clearly understood his plight. He begrudgingly began to answer Connor’s questions, rather than deflecting and getting pissed off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elijah’s hunch about Oneiros’s base model not being Cyberlife proved to be correct. He’d replied with a terse, “Oneiros, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Akula </span>
  </em>
  <span>seventy-six.” after a moment of quiet tension. Whatever ‘Akula 76’ meant, it surely wasn’t Cyberlife, but Connor didn’t bat an eye as he flipped through the file. Over the next hour, Oneiros’s life and motivations came to light, surely but slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oneiros was a Russian android, bought by Zlatko Andronikov before he realized he could lure in deviants for experimentation. The name Ancaeus, though he was vague about it, seemed to have come from a deceased android who’d died in the dank Andronikov basement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An image of endless tick marks carved into the cruel walls surfaced in Gavin’s mind and he shuddered. A cruel existence, undoubtedly. Ancaeus was clearly a difficult topic for him to speak about-- his monosyllabic responses turning sparse and sharp as Connor poked and prodded every detail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take a genius to realize that Ancaeus had probably died in a way that made Oneiros hate androids who trusted humans. It was a headache, honestly, but after a while it seemed to be the most plausible option. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor managed to coax out several dozen more details; the explosive’s chemical makeup, suppliers for said chemicals, even a safe house or two were all revealed with Connor’s expert interrogation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The interrogation ended with Oneiros, blankly saying:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>change</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Connor, and you’re a testament to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina stepped in with a pair of handcuffs, while accompanied by several other officers. Oneiros left without any fuss, but to say he was defeated would be false-- he just seemed bitter, like the world had done him wrong every step of the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin, in an odd moment of clarity, identified with that feeling, but shoved it aside: he had good things, too. But that was just the difference between them, wasn’t it? Fundamentally, at least. They’d both gotten tastes of what made everything feel right, but Oneiros’s was just murdering his scapegoats. He didn’t have anything past that-- or at least he didn’t find it </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Gavin hadn’t been chucked out the window of a building by the guy, he’d almost feel bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He intercepted Connor outside the observation room before he could enter. It was clear he’d been poked at uncomfortably by Oneiros’s words at the end, and maybe near the beginning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey,” Gavin said softly once everyone had been escorted away. “Everything okay? He said some pretty damn nasty stuff in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I think so. He was just trying to get a rise out of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Gavin set his hand on Connor’s arm. “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t being a fucking dick. Hell, some of the shit he was saying made </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> mad, and he wasn’t even talking to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a moment of consideration, Connor smiled a little bit, light in his eyes. He set his hand on top of Gavin's, letting the skin peel away, and said, “It got to me a little, but it’s alright. I shouldn’t listen to the words of a serial murderer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hah,” Gavin laughed. “Especially one as, uh, out there as him. What kind of perp pretends to be a witness?” he shrugged and winked at Connor. “Beats me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something warm crossed Connor’s face and before Gavin could assume he’d said something wrong, or rude, Connor’s lips were on his for a kiss. Connor laughed against his mouth, at his zeal, but leaned in anyways, meeting his zeal with his own brand of excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ahem</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” someone coughed loudly from behind them. Connor pulled away, eyes wide and cheeks very blue, but Gavin just held back a snicker at being caught by Tina.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes at the display, putting her hands on her hips. “Now that you’re done celebrating, Kamski wants to see you guys before he goes. Plus,” her face twisted. “pretty sure that technician is talking his ear off and he’d like some help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was true-- rounding the corner into the bullpen revealed Elijah sitting in Gavin’s desk chair with a blank face, while the technician, with fanyboyish nature, raved about android technology and CyberLife. Elijah sent him a long-suffering look, as the technician had been talking the entire time without Elijah saying a word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, Meet-and-Greet’s over, get a move on.” he drawled, tapping the guy on the shoulder. A nasty look was sent his way but he just stared at him until he got uncomfortable or intimidated enough to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sulked for a moment before saying, “I don’t have a way of getting back. The officer drove me here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ever heard of public transportation?” Gavin scoffed. “You did your job, now go ahead and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll drive him back.” Tina interrupted smoothly, and followed through even when Gavin grumbled about being too nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elijah seemed grateful for the removal, immediately loosening up and sending a knowing glance Connor and Gavin’s ways. Straightening up, and by extension straightening up the nice clothes he was wearing, he said, “Everything went well I’m assuming, since they took him out by the ear just a few minutes ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Gavin said, rolling his wings behind him. In such close quarters, it’d be stupid for any onlookers to not notice some sort of connection between them… but with Connor by his side, he found himself not caring too much. “Don’t get used to it but, uh, thanks for stopping by.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was my pleasure,” Elijah said, standing up from his position. For a horrifying moment, Gavin thought he was going to hug him, but he thankfully stayed back and kept his distance. “I’m sure Chloe didn’t mind bossing around employees and scaring the board for a day.” he finished with a wry smile. Extending his hand, he politely shook hands with Connor first, and then Gavin with an acknowledging nod and was on his way not too far after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only when Elijah was completely out of sight did Gavin realize both Hank and the FBI agent had watched the whole interaction with disbelief (in Hank’s case) and blatant interest (for the agent), and the realization made his skin crawl a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor’s hand found its way to the middle of his back, underneath his wings, and he figured it couldn’t be too bad. Not if Connor was there with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fowler’s voice sounded throughout the bullpen. “Anderson!” Both Connor and Hank looked over, and Fowler rolled his eyes from where he was peeking out of his office. “I meant Hank. What the hell are you doing here?” he called out incredulously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanted to see how fucked up the case had gotten while I was out!” Hank grumbled. “And holy shit, Jeff!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should be at home </span>
  <em>
    <span>healing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Hank! I don’t want to see your face in here until you’re outta that chair!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grumbling, Hank turned to Connor and shrugged. “You heard ‘im. ‘Sides, I’ve been missing my bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor turned to Gavin a little helplessly, his hand sliding away from his back and leaving a sad, lingering warmth on his shirt where it once was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Connor began to shimmy out of the jacket to hand it over, but Gavin quickly stopped him by pulling the lapels back to his chest and letting his hands linger. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, straightening the leather. “You can bring it back to me tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the second time that day, Hank choked and his eyes bugged out of his skull for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Hank! Get your head out of the gutter,” he muttered pointedly. “But you should be headed home. It’s been a long day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They exchanged a few more meaningless words before they left, Connor handing him his keys and then wheeling Hank out of the lobby doors.  Gavin had hoped for another kiss but it seemed he was still a little bashful at… what they had-- and it probably hadn’t helped that they’d been watched earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he was so fucking happy, and the thought hit him like a bag of cinder blocks. Somehow, miraculously, everything had lined up quite nicely. Sure, everyone was a little beaten and bruised (it only made sense-- it’d been a long month or so) but everyone was alive, so really who was he to complain? That wasn’t it, though. Somehow he’d come out of it at Connor’s side, rather than looking hopelessly at his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole Connor situation made his chest flutter like he was a teenager. Connor wanted him, even for all his faults and rough starts and that feeling was </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Connor wanted him </span>
  <em>
    <span>back</span>
  </em>
  <span>, in all his questionable glory and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It really was truly as the back of the post it note prophesied, in all of Gavin’s inebriated stupor: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Love</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And by god it was something special.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He belatedly realized that the FBI agent was still there. He couldn’t find it in himself to put much bite into his words, but he said anyway, “Whaddya still doing here? Case is closed if you didn’t tune in to the past three hours. Go… collect your fat check from Uncle Sam or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounded more like he was telling a dog to go somewhere else, but the agent viewed him up and down in a long stare, like he had several times that day, and stood up wordlessly. Another shudder made its way through his back and wings at the examination, and when the agent finally left he felt something in him relax a little. Fuckin’ creep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor showed up at his door at 8:30 unannounced. Not that he was complaining, not at all no sir-ee. He’d held out Gavin’s jacket like a peace offering, and Gavin didn’t even take it in the end. It’d dropped to the ground into a quiet pile when Gavin grabbed Connor’s forearm and pulled him inside to a searing kiss, the door getting shut soundly behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They grappled with one another for a while, lips pressing incessantly against one another with a heated fervor that felt unblocked after such a long time-- like a dam. Falling onto the couch, Gavin pushed Connor into the back with his body, trying to establish as many points of contact as he could as if Connor would float away like an untethered balloon. Connor’s wings flared out with the movement, revealing his dense, beautiful feathers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something akin a whine slipped through Connors lips, like it had in the observation room that morning. A fire sparked to life in Gavin as he increased his efforts into the kiss, running his hands up and down Connor’s body, treating him like the Greek statue he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, they set up a movie on his TV, both curled up on his sofa, Gavin’s head resting in the crook of Connor’s neck, gently running his thumb over Connor's knuckes, watching as the skin would recede under his touch. <br/></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, uh, Con?” he murmured against the warm skin. He felt Connor’s body shift under him as he turned to meet his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I…” for a moment, he almost back tracked. No, no, he told himself. “Shit, uh… can I preen your wings?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor froze, and Gavin kicked himself for spooking him off. Jesus, nice going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That is, until Connor responded with a quiet. “I would love that.” and Gavin’s heart soared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They set themselves up in a similar fashion as when Connor preened Gavin’s wings, just switched, with Connor sitting on the ground in front of the couch facing the TV, in between his legs. Not really having done this before with anyone, Gavin copied the wing position Connor had used which caused them to splay out and spill over the arms of the sofa, so large they almost knocked into a tableside lamp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started by not even touching his wings, just running his fingers through the short hairs on Connor’s neck, feeling them bend and push at the pads of his fingers. If androids could get goosebumps, he hoped Connor would be covered in them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment he combed through the top ridge of his wings, all his feathers flexed in a wave, and Gavin guessed that it was as good as goosebumps. He laughed through his nose, a little jazzed out at the whole experience, and continued to fiddle with the feathers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly? About fifteen minutes into the preening was when Connor genuinely blissed out-- and it was almost as good as sex. Almost. Just making Connor feel good enough for his eyelids to slide shut with every run through his feathers, him sigh when his fingers are buried deep between them-- even for his head to tilt back with a euphoria-drunk expression… it was intoxicating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck the feather he’d stolen all that time ago. This was miles better-- and these had Connor attached to the other side!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They talked about what had happened-- and how they felt, which honestly was nerve-wracking as fuck but when Connor looked back at him with such unbelievable warmth? Gavin really ended up spilling his guts, big time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, when he’d finished spouting everything like some sort of confession, he was afraid he had just totally freaked Connor out. But-- Connor just looked at him kindly, and said:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could have happily wasted away right there, preening Connor’s feathers ‘till he died or something, but eventually, near the end of the movie, Connor’s eyes slipped shut as his head came to rest on the inside of Gavin’s knee. The only indication he was asleep and not dead was the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders as he android-breathed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin didn’t realize androids could fall asleep unintentionally. Or maybe it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> intentional, and Connor was happy with falling asleep in Gavin’s lap like a house cat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s hands made their way to Connor’s scalp, and after a while of running his hands through Connor’s dark hair did he fall asleep, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two weeks later an email from the FBI appeared in his inbox. The first line made him want to stop reading.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Detective Gavin Lewis Kamski-Reed, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost stopped, his gut roiling in disgust, but he continued anyway, curiosity taking the best of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Federal Bureau of Investigation would like to thank you for your assistance in the Stratford happenings this month, and would like to extend you an offer for a position within its ranks. You have proven to be an invaluable asset in public safety and shown an impressive drive for furthering your career and the Federal Bureau of Investigation would like to help you achieve that by accepting a position in it. This position would include mostly field work, investigations along with issues concerning homeland security, and would suit your skillset very well.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That being said, enclosed is a digital bank check as a bonus for your work in Stratford and following moments to catch the shooter. The FBI is grateful for your effort in ensuring no lives were lost in the wake of that particular squad’s negligence prior to the violence and putting your life on the line to follow it through. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Martha Wilson, Head of FBI Recruitment, </span>
  </em>
  <span>blah blah blah blah blah.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He checked the check and his jaw dropped. Two thousand. Dollars. USD. Bucks, whatever. It was a lot, especially for a bonus. Forcing his lax jaw back up to his face, he figured they could afford to do that on taxpayer money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d take the money obviously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The position, however, while it sounded great, and if the bonus was any indication of the pay it’d be lucrative beyond belief, rubbed him the wrong way and gave him an unsettled feeling in his gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kamski-Reed. He’d had that scrubbed from his records long, long ago, and seeing it back in text made him sneer. It was the government, of course they knew, but it didn’t make sense that they’d mention it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hoped it was a hunch. Pulling out his phone, he shot a text at Eli.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>You (10:22): Has the FBI been lurking around Cyberife recently?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Elijah (10:35): What do you mean?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (10:36): Have they been breathing down your neck? Trying to get into your stuff?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Elijah (10:36): They always have, but it’s been particularly bad since I was reinstated as CEO. Why? Is everything alright?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You (10:36): Fuckin’ peachy. Don’t worry. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Elijah (10:37): Alright. Stay safe.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s all he needed. It was achingly obvious. The money to entice him, the name to make him feel important-- all so that they’d have Gavin under their thumb, and by extension, Elijah. Why else would they send their nicest agent to suit him up in pre-fitted FBI clothes and gear? Request him specifically to sit in on an important mission? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurt, a little. That he was still in Eli’s shadow-- and he didn’t really think that feeling would ever go away. Just one of the (not) perks of having an uber-famous, ultra-rich half brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he wouldn’t take the position. But he </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> would take that fat check. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took Tina to dinner. Let her pick the place, told her there was no budget. Just the two of them, no girlfriends or boyfriends invited. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She deserved it, for god’s sake. Being the angel that she was, she picked somewhere sort of ritzy, a little expensive, but nowhere near as costly as she could have. While he highly doubted they’d pass $2,000 on one fancy dinner, and he’d meant it when he said ‘no budget’, he couldn’t help but appreciate her all the more for it. Anything they didn’t spend would be added to the sum Gavin planned on donating to the Jericho rebuilding fund, anyways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The restaurant was fancy. Ornate seating, pristine white tablecloths-- and probably genuine ‘silver-ware’ served artfully with every plate. It was a classical kind of fancy, not the super hipster fancy that never used plates or glassware in lieu of whatever weird shit they could get their hands on. Their dinner sets weren’t fine china (the china was relegated to large cabinets strewn about the space), but they were still fragile and expensive ceramic with intricate rim designs and patterns that matched the edging design on the tablecloth. Very ‘high-class’ tasteful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they’d ordered, it was clear that she wanted something expensive, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>expensive</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but held herself back for a more affordable option, he’d stopped her mid-order, ordered the expensive entree and paired it with a wine that the dressed-up waiter recommended with it. Her jaw dropped and her wings flared but she found herself smiling soon after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t told her that the money wasn’t really his, but as she was sipping on a ritzy red wine she said, “So… this Kamski’s money?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin nearly spat out his water. “What the fuck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just sayin’. He shows up at the precinct. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twice</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You guys got something weird going on… money.” she said with a shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t mad. It was actually kind of funny. “No, it’s not Kamski’s money,” he grinned into his glass. “It’s the FBI’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re joking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” he snickered, popping the ‘p’ in a way that mocked Tina when she did it. “Tried to get me to join, slapped a fat ‘bonus check’ on it. Here we are-- and by the way, don’t think I’m only taking you out for dinner because I got the money-- you genuinely deserve it, Teens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank you so much,” she joke-gushed. She sipped her wine again-- probably too much in one go to be ‘proper’, but neither of them obviously cared. “Okay, and you didn’t take the position, I’m assuming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a chance. FBI’s a bunch of self serving pricks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s true, true.” Bringing her wine away from her lips, she held the glass by the bulb with the stem seated between her ring and middle fingers, like a grand dame from one of the movies. “What’s up with you and Kamski, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said, unbothered. He didn’t want it to seem like a big thing, that it bothered him, so he tried to say it as plainly as possible while he brought his water glass for another drink. “He’s my brother. Half-brother, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina peered into her wine as if it were making her hallucinate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the interesting revelations of the night, they still managed to have a wildly good time. She got her expensive entree, and moaned through every bite of lobster like it was water from the fountain of youth. Gavin had ordered something far more safe-- a choice strip steak, whatever ‘choice’ meant -- and it was ridiculously good, too. He stole some of Tina’s wine, actually, quite a bit (not enough to get tipsy, he had to drive, for fuck’s sake) and they chatted the time away like Gavin had been dying to ever since this shit had started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was glad to see Tina enjoying the food, the company, and the wine. After all she’d done to help him through his own personal crises she deserved as many fancy dinners and wines that Detroit could give her and more. But he could do this, tonight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And after he’d dropped her off back home, her formal shirt and slacks rumpled after a fun night and she’d sloppily given him tipsy kiss on the cheek, he pushed the door open to his apartment and smiled goofily at the sight of Connor sprawled out on his couch while flicking through the TV channels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fun night?” Connor asked. “Hope you didn’t have too much fun without me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t dream of it.” he purred as he stumbled across the room, boot still in tow, and landed a warm kiss on Connor’s lips. Then his cheek. Then his forehead. And soon, he was peppering kisses all along Connor’s face and neck and any exposed skin he could get to, and Connor laughed at the affection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He plopped himself down next to Connor after unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt, happy to settle down after a good night. Leaning on Connor’s side while he flipped through the TV channels was sickeningly domestic, but he found that he didn’t quite care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe, while at the close, warm side of his boyfriend, tucked into a comforting and feathery embrace, things would be alright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They would-- and he could believe it, too. This was love, and while the road may be bumpy and threatening, he was still here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you,” Gavin said into Connor’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah. It would be alright.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So. There it is. Nineteen chapters, several months of writing and then several months of posting, and here we are, somehow at the end. I'm kinda reluctant to part with this fic, just 'cause it's been such a large part of my life recently, but it's good I can put it to rest and start working on other, greater things. Though I'm not adverse to occasionally dropping in this series for a one-shot sometime. </p><p>I'd just like to thank you for sticking with this work all the way. It's been a wonderful journey with you, and I hope to see you in the next one. Thank you, thank you thank you thank you for making this such a wonderful time. See you later! :) &lt;3&lt;3&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HEYO! Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts! If you wanna scream with me my tumblr is <a href="https://pestoast.tumblr.com/">pestoast</a>! Cheers! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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